scarlet
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: "If you stop trying to hurt me," he says quietly, "maybe I can save you." / "Keep fighting... that will only make it hurt more." [COMPLETE.]
1. Wolf's Bane

**Hey there, and thanks for checking out this story! I'll only take up a moment of your time for a quick AN, and then it's on to the chapter.**

**This is the story I mentioned during 'bloodstream' (my other multi-chapter TW fic), which I've been working on for about a month. I'm actually quite happy with the way it turned out, which is weird for me, but I hope I did actually produce something worth reading.**

**Some things before you start: this is set somewhere during 3B, early on, before everyone found out about the nogitsune (and before anyone died). It's assumed that Deaton is a druid, Lydia doesn't know about Kira being a kitsune, and nobody knows Stiles is possessed.**

**And some warnings: I like things very dark. This story involves character deaths, moral ambiguity, violence, and pretty much anything else you can think of. So be aware of that before you start to read. Also be aware that the ending isn't clean-cut, so if you're looking for a story where everything gets resolved in a neat little bundle at the end, turn away now - or at the very least don't complain when you get to the last chapter.**

**I've pre-written this, so it's all but two chapters done (and there will be just over 40 chapters). This means that I can basically update as frequently as necessary. So if you like what you're seeing, leave me a review; how many reviews I get will influence how quickly I update, so support me and I'll reward you with quick updates.**

**Oh, and if you're interested, pairings include: Stiles/Lydia, Allison/Isaac, Scott/Kira, hints of Allison/Scott, and also one of my other favorite couples which I won't mention just yet. Most characters will be involved at some point: the main guys, as well as the parents, Deaton, even Derek and Peter and the twins to some extent.**

**That about sums it up, and I'm sorry it took so long. ANs will be much shorter in the future, I promise. So here's the prologue, and I hope you enjoy!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Werewolf hearing aside, the night is unusually loud. Scott's particularly acute hearing can pick up sounds most people would miss – a dog barking on the other side of town, a night bird landing in a nearby tree, shoes scuffing on the other side of the road – but it doesn't take much to block them out, given the chaos that surrounds him. There must be some kind of street party up the road, which is exactly what Scott doesn't need right now.

Light spills out onto the pavement from the house on the corner, illuminating the scene in front of it. A group of teens dressed in all black are standing beneath the window, sharing cigarettes and bottles of something that looks like rum; a couple is leaning against the fence, totally oblivious to everything around them as they engage in something that from afar looks almost aggressive, but closer inspection suggests that it's simply lust with a dash of intoxication; a drunken girl with a lipstick smear on her cheek even waves to Scott as he approaches, but he ducks his head and crosses to the other side of the street.

Music is pumping from the inside of the house, pounding against Scott's brain and somehow causing his thoughts to reverberate against his skull. For almost half an hour he'd managed not to think about everything that's going on. He's just finished up a late-night shift at the animal clinic, which had involved a dog with broken glass in its paw, a cat that swallowed the handle of a plastic comb, and a puppy that needed its shots, but was deathly terrified of strangers – it was exactly the distraction Scott needed.

But now he's on his way home, and there's nothing else to occupy his thoughts. He'd had a quick chat to Deaton after his shift, but the doc didn't have any new information. It was all things Scott already knew: the nogitsune is a trickster, the only way to defeat it is to change the body of the host, and there's no sign of either Stiles or Lydia. They haven't heard from either of them in almost a week, and that's incredibly unsettling. It means the nogitsune is planning something, some new way to manipulate them into doing what it wants. Or maybe even a way to end the game for good.

That's all it is, Scott thinks bitterly as he kicks a rock along the sidewalk. This is all the nogitsune's game, and they have no chance of winning when they don't even understand the rules. And even if they did, the nogitsune would just change them anyway. It's why they're always ten steps behind at best, always struggling to keep up.

As he turns the corner, Scott becomes aware of a noise from behind him. The rock tumbles to a stop but he keeps walking, not wanting to alert whoever is following him. It sounds like someone is a few steps behind, their footsteps faltering. Alarm pounds in his chest and he starts to walk faster, but then a hand grabs his arm and spins him around.

He's face to face with the girl from the party, her smile slightly lopsided and a wild look in her eyes.

"Hey there, handsome," she slurs, her hand still resting on his arm. Scott tries to draw away but her fingers curl around his arm and then drift up to his biceps, her smile growing wider by the second. "D'you work out?"

"Y-yeah," Scott says, trying to sound aloof but realizing he comes across as nervous. Which is understandable, given that he can still remember a time when girls this pretty would never give him a second look, let alone come up and talk to him. Before he'd been bitten, everything had been different.

And everything's been different since Stiles was possessed.

"I saw you back there," the girl goes on, her hand now on his shoulder, partly in an attempt to be flirtatious and partly, he suspects, in order to help her stay on her feet. "What's your name, cutie?"

"Scott," he chokes out, now sure he wants to be away from this situation. He doesn't have time for things like this, not with Stiles and Lydia both gone and the rest of the pack counting on him to find them. And even if he did have the time, he doesn't have any interest. He has Kira, after all, and he doesn't need anyone else.

"My name's Trixie," she says, her voice low and seductive. She leans in closer, her lips brushing against Scott's.

"Stop," he says suddenly, pushing her away. She stumbles a couple of steps and then looks up at him, brushing a strand of honey-blonde hair out of her eyes. "I have a girlfriend. This isn't right."

Trixie's smile had slipped for a second, but now it's back. "I don't see her anywhere. What she doesn't know can't hurt her."

"No," Scott says more firmly, holding up his hand as she takes a step forward. She stops, giving him a puzzled look.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I just told you. I'm flattered, but I'm not interested."

To Scott's immense relief, Trixie doesn't push the matter. She pulls a flask out of the pocket of her leather jacket, takes a swig, and then holds it out to him. He shakes his head and Trixie shrugs. "Suit yourself," she says, tucking it back into her pocket. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

She turns unsteadily and half-saunters, half-staggers off. She's in a pretty bad shape, so Scott doubles back and watches her go back to the party. He waits until she reaches that patch of light and is welcomed by the black-clad group out the front, and then he turns away. She's in good hands. If only every problem was as easy to solve.

Gradually silence settles over him as he keeps walking, hands in pockets and head in the clouds. He can't stop thinking about the past couple of months, everything that's happened since they found out Stiles is possessed. It all still feels like some bad dream, and every morning Scott wakes up expecting to have some kind of message from Stiles: a suitably sarcastic text or even a missed call. But there's radio silence, and some part of him knows that it's because Stiles is gone. Really gone.

A buzzing interrupts his thoughts, and he checks his phone to see a new message from Allison. _No news yet. Will keep looking. _They've been searching for Stiles and Lydia for a week now, and even Mr Argent and Mr Stilinski have joined in the search, but they seem to have just vanished. They've been through things like this before, dealing with the kanima and the darach and everything else that's come barrelling into Beacon Hills, but this time it's even worse.

And Scott knows exactly why. Whenever anything has gone wrong, no matter how bad things got with alpha packs and dark druids and werecoyotes, he was never alone. Stiles always had his back, and it's not until he's gone that Scott becomes truly aware of how much that support meant to him. How is he supposed to save the day without his best friend by his side?

He has the pack, of course. Allison's on his side, and so is Isaac; even Aiden and Ethan seem genuine in their desire to help, and Derek's probably going to volunteer as well. He's got his pack, and he's got his girlfriend, but it's not the same as having his best friend.

When Scott is two blocks away from home, there's another noise from behind him. Cautious footsteps, shallow breathing. He turns, knowing instinctively that it's not Trixie –

\- and finds himself flat on the ground. Pain explodes across his face and he bites back a groan, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Someone is standing over him, holding what looks like a baseball bat, but his eyes are watering so much that he can't see who it is. If he hadn't been a werewolf that blow might have even been enough to kill him. As it is, it just hurts like hell.

He tries to stand up, but the person pushes him back, her stiletto pressing warningly against his ribcage. And just like that, he knows who it is.

"I wouldn't try to stand, if I were you," she says calmly, the bat dangling limply by her side. When he makes no move to fight, she removes her foot from his chest and places it down delicately by his head. He stares at the glittery straps, the impossibly high heel, and he wonders how the hell they got here.

"Why are you doing this?" he manages to ask as the pain starts to fade. He's going to have a bruise there, but nothing feels broken.

She just quirks up an eyebrow, her smile enough of an answer. "And by the way," she says as she raises the bat, preparing to deliver the final blow, "I'm not possessed."

Those are the last words he hears before the bat slams into his face again, and Lydia's is the last face he sees before he slips into unconsciousness.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Cliffhangers are going to be incredibly frequent in this story, which is just another reason to review. So let me know what you think, and I hope to see you (soon) for the next chapter!**


	2. Frayed

**Hey everyone, and thanks for the great response last chapter; it's awesome to see some familiar names in the reviews. And remember, all you lurkers, the more you review, the more I post; I've already had my fun writing this, so unless you guys give me reason to update quickly, chances are that updates will be few and far between.**

**A couple of things I forgot to mention last chapter. First, massive shoutout to my friend K, for helping me plan this story, and to C, for proofreading. So all mistakes are theirs; take it up with them. Also, this story flicks back and forth a bit, between past and present, so keep an eye out for the top of the chapter, where I'll let you know if it's what's happening now or a flashback to what's already happened. Basically it switches every chapter, so just keep that in mind so you don't get confused.**

**Now. Enough from me; here's what you came for.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

It's raining. Stiles' hair is dripping, his jacket is soaked, and for the life of him he can't figure out why he's lying in the middle of a parking lot with a spanner in his pocket and a length of rope wrapped around his hand. The day comes back to him in pieces: having breakfast with his dad at the diner round the corner; goofing off with Scott in first period Chemistry while the teacher droned on about acidity; deciding to skip fourth period Spanish. And then nothing.

Holding a hand to his head, Stiles sits up cautiously. He untangles the rope and tosses it to the ground, and then tosses the spanner beside it. He doesn't remember getting those, which must mean that he wasn't the one who did. With a horrible sinking feeling he realizes that, once again, the nogitsune has taken control.

"Damn it, Stiles," he mutters as he gets to his feet, eager to the leave parking lot and his memories far behind. "You can't even go one day without letting a freaking trickster sprit take over your body. Top work, buddy."

These bitter thoughts follow him all the way back home, which it takes him longer to get to than normal. His legs feel shaky, like he's been walking for miles, but of course he can't remember where he's been. He's not sure how long ago it started; at first it had just been blackouts, and that had been bad enough. But then it had progressed, and after that night in the basement – in the _cave_, he corrects himself, remembering being dragged out by Melissa and Mr McCall – he'd started to do his own research.

It's a nogitsune, a trickster spirit. That had been easy enough to figure out, once he'd stopped hallucinating long enough to be able to think logically. Or at least as logically as he could, given that there's a potentially centuries-old spirit living inside him and periodically taking control of his body. He hasn't been able to pinpoint exactly who the spirit is or where it came from, but part of him is still lucid enough to know that the demon would stop him from finding out anyway. If he gets close to finding out the truth, or anything that could potentially damage the nogitsune, it will just take over and stop him.

He wonders if that happened today, but he can't remember anything after deciding that skipping fourth period would be the best use of his day. Undoubtedly the nogitsune had taken control shortly after that, for some nefarious purpose Stiles will probably never be able to figure out. The rope and spanner aren't even the most terrifying items he's found himself with over the past weeks – he's woken up with maps, knives, even some of Mr Argent's anti-werewolf emitters.

"Hey, kid," his father greets him as he trudges in the door, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up on the rack.

"Hi Dad," he says listlessly, hoping his father will leave it at that. He doesn't.

"I thought we could have some family time tonight," Mr Stilinski says from where he's sitting at the kitchen table. There's a half-empty glass of scotch beside him, and paperwork spread out in front of him. "We could order takeout, eat at the table together."

Stiles raises his eyebrows, his gaze sweeping down to take in the cluttered table. He doubts there's even enough room left on it to put a coaster, let alone have a meal.

"Obviously once we clean it," his father says, and Stiles notices how drained he sounds. How tired. How utterly exhausted. Stiles knows that feeling all too well.

"Sounds good," he says, slumping into the chair across from him and helping to clear some of the papers out of the way. Once there's enough space on the table, Stiles looks up at his father. There are new lines around his eyes, and his mouth tilts down at the corners in a constant look of disappointment mingled with sadness. He can't remember the last time his father looked so downtrodden. "So, uh, is anything bothering you?"

Mr Stilinski, halfway through reaching for the phone, pauses. His eyes become sharper, his expression more guarded. "Not at the moment."

Even though Stiles desperately wants to know if there were any strange call-outs today – anything that could have been caused by a teenage boy possessed by a dark fox spirit – but he knows not to push it. "Okay," he says, and a flash of surprise flits through his father's eyes. He can imagine what his dad is thinking: it's not like him to give in so easily. And he's right; it's not like him. But Stiles hasn't been himself in a long while.

After a slightly awkward pause, his dad clears his throat. "What are you in the mood for? Pizza? Thai? We could get some of that -"

"Pizza's fine." Stiles rubs a patch of dirt off his thumb, trying hard not to think about how he would have ended up with that. What was he doing, digging up a grave? Hiking? Playing lacrosse? While his father calls in their order, Stiles makes a mental checklist to try to figure out where he went today. Dirt on his hands – that could have been from almost anywhere. His legs are aching, which means he probably walked a long distance, or maybe even ran somewhere. He can't find any obvious injuries, which means he didn't get into a fight with anyone. And his phone's not ringing off the hook, which means nobody in the pack saw him doing whatever it was he was doing.

He's not sure whether he's relieved or disappointed. He hasn't told anybody about the nogitsune, not even Scott. He'd tried to tell him after the incident with Kira and Barrow, but Scott hadn't listened. And somehow it had seemed even harder to go to him now that he has definite proof. He can just imagine how that conversation would go.

_"Hey, Scott, I know I'm your best friend and all, but you may have to kill me because I'm possessed by an evil fox spirit that's probably plotting to kill you all. Oh, and did we have any Econ homework?"_

Yeah, right.

Dinner is a quiet affair. For a while they talk about meaningless things like sports and reality TV shows, but Stiles can hardly keep his mind focused for long enough to ask a single question, let alone pay attention to the answer. His father's telling some story now, something about how the new deputy's birthday was last week and the receptionist had made him a chocolate cake, but hadn't realized he'd been allergic to the nuts she'd decorated it with. Stiles knows it's an amusing story, and he owes it to his dad to at least try to listen, but something is tugging at the edge of his mind.

"Not now," he murmurs, and his dad's too involved in the story to hear him.

"… because the guy was too damn polite to tell her that he was allergic," Mr Stilinski is saying, and Stiles nods like he's listening.

But he's not, because he's too busy thinking of all the things they're not saying. There's something bothering his dad, something more serious than the usual Beacon Hills craziness. He wants to ask what it is, but he knows it's not the time. And then there's all the things Stiles isn't saying, all the things he can't. He doesn't like to think about what he's done, what the nogitsune is going to make him do, and most of all he doesn't like to think how utterly alone he is in this.

Mr Stilinski finishes his story, and they both finish their dinner. "I think we have some ice cream in the freezer," Mr Stilinski says as he sets the empty pizza box on the counter. "Interested?"

Stiles is about to say that he is – because if he can't forget his problems he may as well try to drown them in Ben &amp; Jerry's – when the tugging in his mind becomes a pull so strong he can't resist it. Choking out an excuse, he staggers up to his room, slamming the door closed and ignoring his father's puzzled cry. Stiles leans against the door, breathing hard, willing himself not to let this happen.

But he has no choice, and as soon as he closes his eyes he knows it's too late.

When he opens his eyes, he's not in his room. He's somewhere else, somewhere he's been a few times before. The walls are solid concrete, the floor metal beneath his bare feet. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, so bright they make his eyes hurt, and a faint hum comes from behind – always from behind, no matter which way he turns.

And, as expected, he's not alone. The nogitsune stands in front of him, its face wrapped in tattered bandages so all Stiles can see is the gaping mouth and the sharp teeth.

"Stay away from me," Stiles says, backing up as far as he can. His back hits concrete and he stops, but he's dimly aware that this is all in his mind and therefore he should just be able to _will_ a door to appear.

"You're dying, Stiles," the nogitsune says, the sound echoing in the small room.

The words bounce back to Stiles, hitting him from all angles, but they don't give him the same chill he used to. When he'd first heard the news that he might have the same disease his mother had suffered from, for a split second there he had wanted to die. And since then it's grown, becoming stronger until he's sure one day it will break him. He'll snap, and that will be the end of it. He'll go up in flames, and he can only hope he'll take the nogitsune with him.

The room feels too small, suffocating, but Stiles knows he won't be allowed to leave until the nogitsune is through with him. It's standing in front of him now, head tilted like it's watching him, even though as far as he can tell the thing doesn't even have eyes.

"You are not scared for you," the nogitsune says curiously, curling its fingers like it's imagining wrapping them around his throat. "But you should be."

"You've already taken everything from me," Stiles says, a shout that dies away into a whimper. His hope, his sanity – they're long gone. It won't be long before his friends and family follow. He can't hold on any longer, no matter how hard he tries. He's no match for the nogitsune, and he knows it. None of the others have actually said it – except Isaac on occasion, but Stiles always just laughed him off – but they all know what he is. He's the sidekick. He's not, nor has he ever been, the hero. He's not strong enough to fight this.

"Not quite everything," the demon says slowly, punctuating each word with a wave of his bandaged, clawed finger.

Panic shoots through Stiles as he figures out where this is going. It freezes him, rooting him to the spot, even though part of him is desperate to fling himself at the demon and try to choke the life out of it. He knows that wouldn't work, but he needs to do something. Even if he can't save the day – or himself – he has to at least try. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your friends, Stiles," the nogitsune says. "Your family. The people you care about."

Although he tries to stop it, a single tear rolls down Stiles' cheek. He brushes it away and doesn't take his eyes off the monster standing in front of him. "Please don't hurt them."

"I won't hurt them – not all of them, anyway," the demon says. "I'm not here to threaten you. In fact, I want to offer you a deal."

"A d-deal?" Stiles echoes, taken aback. Why would it want to offer him a deal, when so far it's been able to take complete control of him whenever it wants?

"I can give you what you want," it says smoothly, "what you've always wanted. I just need you to do one thing for me."

Stiles already knows what it wants him to do, and he knows he won't do it. He can't. But curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks quietly, "What would you give me?"

The nogitsune takes its time answering, building suspense – and panic. And then it says one word, the word that's always had the power to cause Stiles' heart to skid to a stop.

"Lydia."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and don't forget to review. See you next time!**


	3. The girl who knew too much

**Thanks to the few of you who reviewed last chapter; you guys are the best. For those of you who are lurking and not reviewing - know that I update a lot more quickly if I get more feedback, so every time you hit that little Post Review button you're helping to get the next chapter up faster. Like I said, this is all written, so I can update as fast as you guys want me to. I love love love regular reviewers, so you'll make me a very happy Hufflepuff if you guys do review when you can.**

**A coupla things before we get into it. I just published a very dark Stiles/nogitsune/Lydia one-shot called 'arcane', so if you want to have your heart broken you're welcome to check that out. I'm also about a quarter of the way through writing yet another fic, 'break' (description can be found on my profile) so if you like my writing stay tuned. Plenty more to come.**

**Now for the chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

When Lydia walks into the room, Stiles is leaning against the wall, humming something that sounds vaguely like a Christmas carol. His eyes snap up to her as she enters, but he makes no move to go to her.

"Did everything go okay?" he asks, his eyes wary.

She nods. "He's in the car."

The wariness fades from Stiles' eyes and he crosses the room, sweeping her up in an embrace that ends in a passionate kiss. For half a second she resists, but then she remembers how far they've come and everything they've gone through together. Then she thinks of what she just did for him, and how much he'll owe her for this. She smirks against his lips and he pulls back, searching her face.

"What is it?" he asks, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

"You owe me," she murmurs, letting her hand drift up his arm and rest on his shoulder. She finds herself smiling too, and she leans up to him, her hands on the back of his neck and her heart in her throat. "And I know just how you can pay me back."

"Oh really?" He leans down to her, their lips brushing, and then he catches her in a kiss that takes her breath away.

The world fades away, all the color and noise and chaos, and all that matters is that she's here with Stiles. The taste of him lingers long after they part, and she can still feel tingles shooting through her blood as he takes her hand and they start to walk toward the door.

It's cold outside by now, colder than it had been when Lydia had followed Scott home from the animal clinic, and she suppresses a shiver as she steps through the door. But Stiles is observant, and he wraps his coat around her shoulders. For a moment she's caught off-guard; this is something the real Stiles would have done, back when they were both really them. But the gesture doesn't seem out of place here either, so she offers him a smile as they keep walking.

The car door opens with a faint click, and the lights that switch on automatically illuminate the shape slumped over in the back seat. Without a word Stiles reaches in and grabs Scott by the arm, dragging him out of the car. Lydia quickly grabs Scott's other arm and together they manage to half-carry, half-drag the alpha to the still-open door of their hideout. He doesn't stir as they take him downstairs, letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor of the basement.

Lydia is almost disappointed. She can still remember Scott as he used to be – back when his alpha powers were first awakened, when he and the others had sacrificed themselves to save Beacon Hills, when he'd gradually won over everyone he'd crossed paths with and formed his own pack. Most of all, she remembers what he's been like ever since they first found out about the nogitsune. How he'd been the first one to notice that something was wrong. How he'd gone frantic looking for Stiles when he went missing. How he'd done everything he could to save Lydia, even when it was too late.

Yet here he is, sprawled out on the floor, and he looks so… small. Without his glowing red eyes and his inspiring alpha howl and his pack behind him, he's not that special. Just a normal kid who's reasonably good at lacrosse and gets decent grades and occasionally saves the world. Nothing intimidating there, but Lydia still feels a slight pinprick of unease in her heart. If past experience is anything to go by, Scott is the only one who stands any chance of stopping them. Which is exactly why they're doing this.

"He looks different, doesn't he?" Stiles says from beside her, and Lydia pulls herself from her memories and focuses on his face.

"Yeah." Lydia slides her hand into Stiles', suddenly needing reassurance. She hadn't balked at the thought of kidnapping Scott, or handing him over to Stiles. But Scott looks so vulnerable now, and it makes her wonder if she might have made a mistake. Surely he can't be a threat to them.

"Come on," Stiles says, starting to lead her away from the basement. The door swings closed behind them with a dull thud, and Stiles locks it just to be sure.

"Oh!" Lydia says as they're halfway to the kitchen. Stiles stops and turns to her. "Your bat. I left it in the car. Do you want me to go get it?"

Stiles shakes his head. "It's fine. I can do that. Keys?"

She hands them over and he kisses her cheek before disappearing out the door, leaving silence behind. It's the silence that reminds Lydia how this whole thing started – the blissful, uninterrupted silence. She sighs deeply and closes her eyes, but they fly open after a moment. She can hear something. It's not even a whisper, just the hint of one, but it's enough to make the hair on her arms stand on end.

With a glance at the door to make sure Stiles isn't on his way back yet, she goes back to the basement. Her hand hovers over the key hanging up on the wall, and then in one move she plucks it off the holder and shoves it into the lock. Then, before she can lose her nerve, she twists it forcefully and nudges the door open. As soon as she does, the whisper becomes an echo caught in the recesses of her mind. She can't quite make out the words yet, but she doesn't need to.

The key feels heavy in her hand as she descends the steps, pausing on each one as she realizes that the echo is getting louder. She remembers what it was like the first time she'd come down these steps. The noise had been almost deafening, several different voices fighting for room in her mind. It's been quiet for a while, but now one of the voices is back.

She stops when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her feet only inches away from Scott. He's still out, but the voice in her head is growing louder. She's not sure which voice it is, or how they died or what they're saying, and she also doesn't know whether she _wants_ to know. The less she listens to it, the more likely it is that it will disappear.

A creak at the top of the stairs cuts through the echo and she turns to see Stiles, bat in hand. "Lydia?" he calls down to her.

"I'm here," she says quickly. The silence has returned at once. Stiles always has that effect on her. Ever since she made her choice, it's been quiet – mostly. And whenever she's with Stiles, his voice is the only one she can hear.

"Everything okay?" he asks, swinging the bat absently back and forth. If it were anyone but him it would be a mildly threatening gesture, but she knows he would never hurt her. Anyone else – even his best friend – is fair game, but they're in this together.

"It is now," she says sincerely. She waits a couple of beats, but the voice doesn't come back. Scott doesn't wake. Stiles doesn't move. Lydia smiles, her vigour and excitement returning. With Stiles on her side, she's no longer just the girl who screams a lot and finds dead bodies; she's the girl who gets things done, the girl who has a purpose.

"Well, come up here then." He stops swinging the bat and holds his other hand out to her. "I have something I wanted to talk to you about."

Excitement courses through Lydia's veins and she flounces up the stairs, silence restoring her spirits and Stiles restoring her enthusiasm. The last thing he'd wanted to talk to her about was kidnapping Scott, which had ended up going surprisingly well. Now that Scott's temporarily neutralized, they have more room to plan their next attack – which is probably what he wants to talk to her about.

The two of them settle down on the couch in the living room, Lydia leaning against the arm with her legs resting on Stiles' lap. As he starts to talk, he undoes the buckles of her shoes and then places them on the floor with a lot more care than he'd shown to Scott. "It may come as a surprise, but I'm not actually infallible."

Lydia raises her eyebrows, feigning shock. "No, really?"

He slaps her knee playfully. "Yes, really. I've been thinking that we might need to broaden our network of… allies."

This gets Lydia's attention. From the start it's always been the two of them, and the only time they talk about the others is to discuss how they can get them out of the way or manipulate them. But now it sounds like Stiles is actually about to suggest that they invite someone else into their inner circle. "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Maybe," he says coyly, waiting for her to give him a suitably pleading expression before he continues. "I think it would work best if it was a member of the pack."

"Scott's pack?" Lydia echoes in surprise. It's a risky move, trying to convert someone in his pack – especially if they ever find out that they're the ones who kidnapped him. But maybe if they move quickly enough, they can get to whoever it is before they even notice that Scott is gone. "Who? Isaac? He seems like he'd be the easiest one to turn."

Stiles makes a face. "_Not_ Isaac," he says emphatically.

"Aiden, then? Or Ethan?" she suggests, finding herself increasingly excited by the idea of letting someone else join them. Maybe not in any kind of serious capacity, but they could at least share in the grunt work. "They've always had quite a temper."

"Tempting," he says, "but I have other plans for the twins. You'll like it."

Lydia tilts her head quizzically, realizing that she's rapidly running out of pack members. She doesn't think Kira is a real member of the pack yet, but in time she might be – unless they eliminate her first, and she has a feeling that might be part of Stiles' plan. "Not Derek?"

"Not Derek," Stiles confirms.

And with that, Lydia knows who it must be. There's only one pack member left, and the thought of it causes Lydia to sit up straighter, tucking her legs up underneath her and looking at Stiles. "Allison?" she asks, the word coming out as a whisper.

Stiles grins at her reaction. "You like the idea, huh?"

"I love it," she says quickly. And she does. When she'd made her choice, the thought of Allison's reaction had been one of the major reasons she'd taken so long. She hadn't wanted to disappoint her best friend, or to have to leave her. And now Stiles is giving them a way to reunite, to join forces again. In the back of her mind is the realization that she'd always thought they'd be on the other side of the fight, but she'll take what she can get. "Do you have a plan?"

"As a matter of fact," he says slyly, "I do."

He doesn't elaborate, but in the silence that follows Lydia manages to hitch a ride on his train of thought. "You're going to get to her the same way you got to me."

"It worked for you, didn't it?" Stiles asks.

"Are you sure it will work for her?" Now that the topic has been brought up, Lydia realizes how much she wants it – and how devastated she'll be if they don't find a way to go through with it. It surprises her how strongly she feels; she had assumed that all those feelings had disappeared the moment she disavowed Scott's pack. She's no longer following him, but she can't forget her friendship with Allison – it's something that runs parallel to the pack, something that stretches beyond it, and something she won't be able to rid herself of so easily.

"I'm sure. It's all going to work out," he says, and he catches her eye and adds, "trust me."

And the strange thing is, she does.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Uh oh. Any guesses as to what's going to happen? Or for that matter, what's happened already? I love hearing from you guys, so don't forget to leave a review!**


	4. Unleashed

**Thank you all so much for that reaction last chapter; that's the kind of response I'd love to see every update. Sorry for the slow update this time; personal life got in the way and such. But I should be back now (although for future reference if I'm ever away randomly, check out my profile for information because that's where I'll put details of any absences and things like that). So here's the next chapter. And, because I'm a shameless self-promoter, a reminder that I have a recent one-shot ('arcane'), as well as 'break' (in the works) and just today I started an AU Stiles-centric story with dashes of non-romantic Sciles and romantic Sterek. So keep an eye out if you like my writing, because there will be more of it. And I love love love reviews, especially nice ones (and especially now because I'm in a kind of shaky place), so please don't be shy. And now, here's the next chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

Mondays are never good, but what makes this Monday particularly horrible for Lydia is that all day long she's had a buzzing in her ears. It's vaguely reminiscent of the sound she'd had leading up to the incident with Barrow, but that hadn't been the buzzing of flies as she'd first suspected – it had been fluorescent lights. That's not what it is this time; it's definitely flies. The problem is that she can't see any flies, and from the strange looks her classmates are giving her, she can tell that they can't hear the flies. Which means it's in her head, so she's either going crazy or accidentally tapping into her banshee powers. Again.

In all honesty, she kind of hopes it's the former. A mental breakdown would be a lot easier to deal with than finding yet another dead body, or being kidnapped by another dark druid, or being manipulated into helping a former alpha resurrect himself. So far her banshee powers have given her nothing but trouble, so she would like to stay out of tune with them as much as possible.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be possible at all. When class finishes for the day she's the first out the door, a pile of textbooks in her hands and a scream building in her throat. But it's not the kind of scream that precedes a death. It's the kind of scream that comes from being utterly frustrated with her situation, and unable to come up with a single solution her problem. She doesn't know any other banshees, or even anyone who knows anything about banshees, and for the first time in her life she can't get what she needs from books. She doesn't need knowledge – she needs answers. But she can't even formulate the questions.

By the time she reaches her locker, the buzzing has become so loud that she can almost imagine there are actually flies. She shoves her books in her locker and brushes her arms, but there aren't any flies there. The noise keeps getting louder until she feels like her head is about to explode, and before she knows what she's doing she's turned and all but fled down the hall.

She bursts through the double doors and out into fresh air, taking deep gulps and trying to muffle the noise in her mind. She's never been able to quieten it before – normally it only ends when someone dies, or when the mystery is solved, or when Scott races off to save the day. So if she's hearing things again, it must mean she has a role to play. It would just be a lot easier to play it if she could think straight.

Lydia stumbles to a stop outside the gym, leaning against the wall and covering her hands with her ears. This doesn't help at all; it just makes everything louder, like it's trapping the buzzing inside her head. When she moves her hands the buzzing quietens, like it's dissipating, but it's still too loud. She can't remember the last time it was this loud, and she doesn't know how she's supposed to deal with it.

"Lydia?" The voice breaks through the buzzing, but it doesn't silence it. "Lydia, are you okay?"

With an effort she manages to focus on the person in front of her – Scott. Of course it's him. She's part of his pack – undoubtedly the most unorthodox pack in the history of lycanthropy – and he always seems to know when one of them is upset. "I'm fine," she says, not putting much into trying to convince him of the fact. No matter how convincing she sounds, he's not going to buy it.

He narrows his eyes and she looks away, feeling suddenly like she disappointed him somehow. "Are you sure? You haven't been… I mean things have been okay, right?"

"Define 'okay'," she says, embarrassed to hear how shaky her voice sounds. For a moment she pines for the old Lydia, the one who waltzed through life with an insincere smile and a well-timed insult. But that girl is gone, and for the most part Lydia is glad about that. Helping Scott and the others feels good; she just wishes it was enough to counter the buzzing and the whispers and all the other banshee nonsense she has to put up with.

Scott's eyes widen now, his face a picture of sympathy. He knows she's not okay, and she feels bad for trying to hide it, no matter how half-hearted the attempt. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice low in case any passersby should overhear what will no doubt turn into yet another discussion about the supernatural.

"The buzzing is back," she confesses quietly.

Scott stiffens. "Like the buzzing you were hearing when Barrow was here?"

She nods. "Not exactly like it, but… close enough."

Before Scott can answer, his phone goes off. Lydia signals to him to get it, and switches her attention to a group of lacrosse players practicing on the field. It's off-season, but some of the boys take the game very seriously. Scott and Stiles, on the other hand, spend their off-season saving innocent people and hunting down monsters.

When Scott looks back up at her, his face is paler than usual. "It's Allison," he says, as if that's enough of an explanation. "It's important – she says she found something about the rising evil that Deaton warned us about. She wants to meet me."

Lydia waves her hand, trying to appear airy. "Go."

Scott hesitates. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," she says, and this time she does put effort into making it sound convincing – and it looks like Scott almost buys it.

"Do you want to come with us?" he asks.

The question makes Lydia's breath hitch in her throat. She'd been the last to know about the supernatural, the last to join the pack, and she's used to being on the outside now. It's not often that she's invited to meetings like this, and she appreciates the effort Scott is going to in order to make her feel welcome. But in the state she's in, she feels like she'll be more hindrance than help. "Thanks, but I can't. You guys go ahead."

"Are you sure?" Scott asks again, and she nods, not considering whether or not it's true. After giving her one more concerned look and a promise that he'll fill her in as soon as they know something, he dashes off.

Lydia lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, watching until Scott is out of sight. Then she turns to leave, only to run into something solid. Startled, she stumbles back, and then she looks up. Stiles is standing in front of her, his eyebrows almost flying off his forehead and his hands already reaching out to steady her.

"Woah," he says, helping her get her balance. "Where's the fire?"

She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, forcing herself not to notice the sparks that shoot across her skin where Stiles is holding her. He seems to notice, though, and quickly withdraws. What she does notice – although it takes her longer than she would like to admit – is that it's quiet. The buzzing has faded; it's not quite gone, but it's not drowning out her thoughts now. Her surprise must show in her face, because Stiles' expression changes from one of surprise to one of concern – almost identical to Scott's, in fact.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"It's fine," she says automatically, and then wonders why her first instinct had been to lie. This is Stiles, after all; if there's anyone she should be able to be honest with, it's him. "Not great," she adds, giving him a window, "but fine."

Stiles considers her, his gaze sweeping up and down her body in a way that makes her shiver – and she's not sure it's entirely in a good way. "Come on. I know a way to cheer you up."

Slightly reluctantly, she takes the hand he's holding out to her and allows him to lead her toward the field. They skirt around it, the only sounds the occasional shouts and grunts of the lacrosse players. A couple of them wave as they walk past, but most are too absorbed in their practice game. As they reach the other side of the field, the game stops, but Stiles doesn't look back, even when Danny calls his name. He just keeps walking, his hand tightening around Lydia's, leading her toward the chem labs.

"Hey," she says, starting to feel uneasy, "shouldn't you go back and talk to Danny? He was calling you."

"I know," Stiles says dismissively, flicking through his keyring until he finds an old silver one, which he holds tight as he leads the way into the building. She's about to ask what the key is for, but her question is answered before she gets a chance. The old silver key is for the chem lab, into which Stiles is now taking her. When he closes the door behind them, Lydia's anxiety increases, but she forces it away. This is _Stiles_. He's never been, nor will he ever be, dangerous. She's just hyper-alert because of the latest drama with Barrow, and because of her apparently growing banshee powers.

"So, what are we doing here?" she asks, hoisting herself up onto the nearest bench and swinging her legs back and forth.

Stiles grins, moving toward her. Before she can quite work out what's happening, he's right in front of her and their lips are meeting, and she's too shocked to pull away. And when the shock wears off, she realizes that she doesn't want to pull away. She's kissing Stiles – again – and it feels good. She leans into it, but just when it feels like her heart might explode from happiness, he breaks the kiss and steps back.

"Feeling better yet?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms.

She's about to say that yes, she is feeling better, but something stops her. Something isn't quite right, and it's even more worrying that she can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Stiles is more bold than usual, sure, but he's still Stiles. He's –

\- still. That's what's wrong. Stiles is always moving, fidgeting or bouncing or talking, but at the moment he seems calm, collected, totally in control. Totally unlike Stiles. He unfolds his arms and approaches her, and even that is worrying – his movements are too controlled, too careful. He's not acting like himself, and in Beacon Hills that's definitely cause for concern. And not just for him – for her. She's sure something's wrong now, but she doesn't know what – or if it's safe to talk to Stiles about it. There's something in his eyes, a kind of darkness that's surely never been there before, and her unease turns into the first hints of fear.

"What's wrong?" he inquires, even his voice carefully controlled. There's none of the edginess, the nervous energy, that characterizes the Stiles they all know and love.

"I was about to ask you the same question," she says, and that stops him in his tracks. He knows he's been made.

The clock on the wall at the back of the lab counts the seconds as they face each other, sizing each other up, deciding on a course of action.

Then the door flies open and decisions become irrelevant – it's all instinct. Lydia jumps to her feet, but she can't quite bring herself to back away. Stiles' gaze shifts to someone behind her, and she turns to see Allison and Scott in the doorway. She starts to tell them that something is wrong, but before she can, Allison slowly raises her crossbow and points it at Stiles. Something is seriously wrong now.

"Allison," she says in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Lydia, come back here," Scott says evenly, not taking his eyes off Stiles.

She glances from Scott to Stiles and back again, and then goes to stand with the alpha and the hunter. Stiles doesn't seem surprised, nor is he shocked by the fact that Allison is pointing an arrow at his chest.

"We know what you are," Allison almost growls, one hand still wrapped around the crossbow and the other one holding onto Lydia's, as much to protect her as to comfort her.

"And we're not going to let you do this," Scott adds, and Lydia's gaze flicks between the three of them as she tries to understand just what the hell is happening here.

"Oh, Scott." Stiles' smile turns into a smirk, one that freezes Lydia's blood. "You really think we're going to have a showdown in the middle of the chem lab?"

Without waiting for a reply Stiles turns around, walks over to the window, and flings it open. Fresh air spills into the room, and the buzzing in Lydia's head doubles its volume.

Stiles turns back to them, a look in his eyes that Lydia has never seen before. It's malice, something she hadn't even realized he was capable of, and it chills her to the bone.

"But when we do have that showdown, you won't wanna miss it," he says. With a wink he adds, "It'll be a riot."

Then he's gone, leaving behind a stunned silence. When Lydia finally forces her muscles to move, she turns to Scott and Allison and asks, "What the hell was that?"

Scott grimaces, eyes still fixed on the window through which Stiles just exited. "That," he says grimly, "was a nogitsune."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**The more you guys review, the quicker I update. Show me some love and I'll see you soon. ;)**


	5. Galvanize

**So guys, I have a problem. And that problem is plot bunnies. I'm now working on like five TW stories at once, and I don't even know how that happened. Keep an eye on my profile if you want to know what I'm working on, because I'm forever changing ships and styles so you never know what you might find. Now, welcome to my new readers, and thank you to the people who reviewed last chapter. This story is completely finished so I can update as often as needed, so here's the deal: you guys get me to 30 reviews total and I'll update right away, failing that it will be about a week from now once I'm finished with exams. It's up to you; if you want to read more, then leave me a review. It'll make me feel good which means you should feel good too, so everyone wins. So here's the next chapter, enjoy, review, you know the drill.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Joining forces with a hunter is an incredibly risky move, and Stiles is well aware of that. If it goes wrong, he may end up having to kill Allison – and although he has no moral objections to that, it could potentially push Lydia away from him. He can't risk that, not with everything he's got planned for them. So he has to make sure this plan goes off without a hitch.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Lydia asks for the third time as they pull up outside Scott's house. Her hands are clasped in her lap and she keeps fiddling with an old penny she found on the ground before they got here.

"I'm sure," Stiles says, resting his hand on top of hers. She stops fiddling, but she still seems agitated. "I explained it all to you, remember? Because Allison's not supernatural, I can't just infect her like I did with you. We have to do something first."

"Create an opening," Lydia says, running a thumb along the penny. "I know. But what does that mean?"

Stiles leans back in the seat, placing both hands on the steering wheel and drumming on it. He's not used to feeling so full of nervous energy, but some of Stiles' – the real Stiles – traits seem to be bleeding through. "It means we have to make her vulnerable," he explains. "She doesn't have a natural link to the supernatural, so we have to give her a link to us – to evil."

To her credit, Lydia manages to suppress a snort of derision. "So we have to turn her evil before we can turn her evil?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Not quite. We give her a link, and then we exploit that so that we can infect her, bring her over to our side."

"This link," Lydia says thoughtfully, fiddling once again, "it's Isaac, right? I mean, it's not him, but it's to do with him."

"Right," Stiles says patiently. "We're going to turn her against Isaac – the anger is our link. Anger is a dangerous emotion, and Allison has a history of it. We can use it to our advantage – if we can trick her into going after Isaac, we can use that distraction to send one of my flies after her."

"And we're going to turn her against Isaac by messing with his head?" she asks.

"Essentially, yes." Stiles stops drumming and looks at her, wondering if she's really just nervous about the mission or if there's something else bothering her.

"Remind me again," she says slowly, "why we can't just mess with Allison's head? That way we wouldn't have to get Isaac involved at all."

Stiles feels a flicker of annoyance. Surely she can't care about that no-good orphan. She hasn't shown any concern for any member of the pack in a long while, and it's no time to start now. "Because it doesn't work like that," he says, and now he has to work to keep his voice even. "The flies work through magic – my magic. And they're very sensitive, so if they run into any other magic, no matter how small, they'll backfire."

"So they won't work?" Lydia asks, not looking at him. She's looking at the penny in her lap, turning it over and over in her hands.

"At best," he says. "At worst, they'll kill her."

"Right." Lydia looks up at him now. "So if you use your magic on her, it might stop the flies from working. But if you use it on Isaac, she won't be affected – and we can still make her vulnerable."

Stiles taps his nose knowingly. "You got it. Now -"

He breaks off, noticing movement out the window. Mrs McCall is stepping outside the house, waving to someone still inside. She calls out something, waits a second, and then gives a thumbs-up. Then she turns around, jogs down the path, and climbs into her car. Stiles checks his watch. Melissa's shift is starting in five minutes; no wonder she's in a hurry. Since Scott is out of the picture, the only one left in the house is Isaac. And that's exactly how they want it.

Stiles and Lydia wait until Melissa's taillights disappear around the corner, and then they get out of the car. Lydia tosses her penny on the ground as she quickly skirts around the car to be by Stiles' side.

"You know pennies are good luck," he says. "I think you might lose it if you throw it away."

Lydia leans her head against his shoulder, looking up at the McCall house. "I don't need luck," she says, so softly he thinks he misheard at first. "I've got you."

A warm glow spreads through Stiles, and he's aware that it's not entirely from him – part of it is from the real Stiles, trapped deep inside. He lets him have this moment, knowing it will come to an end soon enough. Stiles and Lydia cross the street and hurry up the path, still wary of being found out. It hasn't even been a day since they took Scott, but with that damn pack of his it's likely someone's become suspicious already. The last thing they need is someone interrupting them in the middle of this.

They come to a stop on the front doorstep, and Stiles examines the door. Lydia leans closer to him, shivering slightly – he assumes it's because of the cold, but he's not entirely sure.

"What are you doing?" she asks, quietly so as not to alert Isaac; werewolf super-hearing can be a pain sometimes.

"Checking for defenses," Stiles responds. "Scott had Deaton install some around the place, but it doesn't look like they're active. That's good for us. C'mon."

They creep around to the back of the house, and Stiles produces a spare key from his jacket pocket. In response to Lydia's puzzled look he just shrugs; who knew the perks of being Scott's best friend would come in handy when trying to corrupt his ex-girlfriend? The key slides easily into the lock, but the handle sticks. Stiles jiggles it a little, his senses split between the task at hand and the noises from inside as he tries to figure out what Isaac is doing. There's a TV in the background, but it's quiet – it doesn't sound like anyone's watching it. That probably means Isaac's up in his room, and Melissa forgot to turn it off on her way out of the house.

Finally the handle turns, and Stiles pushes the door open. It doesn't creak, which is a relief, and the room they walk into is empty, which is even more so. Stiles tucks the key back into his pocket and shares a thrilled look with Lydia. Part one complete. Her smile seems slightly hesitant, which puts him on alert at once. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks. "You can always change your mind, and we'll leave Allison alone."

Lydia seems to consider it for a moment, but then she shakes her head. "No. Let's see it through."

Stiles gives her another few moments in case she changes her mind, but she doesn't. When he's sure she's not going to back out, he starts up the stairs, placing each foot carefully so as not to alert Isaac. This plan will only work if they have the element of surprise; if they lose that, Isaac might be able to get away, or at the very least signal for help. They need to be in and out of here quickly, so that the next phase of the plan can begin.

Music is drifting from Isaac's room, and Stiles grins. It's the perfect cover, and will decrease the chances of Isaac hearing them. They reach the top landing, and it's then that Stiles realizes something's wrong. And then his smile just widens as he realizes that Isaac, the poor lost puppy, is trying to trick him. He signals to Lydia, and she takes the hint, slipping back into the shadows at the far end of the hall. She'll be hidden from sight, assuming Isaac isn't in his wolf form – and he shouldn't be, not at first.

With quick, light steps, Stiles crosses the hall and approaches Isaac's room. The door is slightly ajar, a triangle of light spilling out into the hall, but even before he walks in Stiles knows the room is empty. But he humors the wolf anyway, walking into the room and pretending not to know this is a trap.

As soon as his foot crosses the threshold, someone slams into him from behind. He staggers forward, impressed by the strength it must have taken to hit him like that. When he turns around, Isaac is standing in the doorway, a pained look on his face. "Scott told me you might come," he says, his tone making it clear that for once he wishes Scott had been wrong.

"Well isn't he a clever little wolfie," Stiles says, straightening up and glancing around the room. This had been the whole trap – there aren't any hidden surprises. "And what a good little wolf you are. Obeying your alpha's orders without question. Risking life and limb to stop the big bad demon. I hate to break it to you, Isaac, but you're not the hero."

Isaac opens his mouth to say something – to argue, no doubt – but before he can, someone grabs his arms and ties them behind his back. Before he even has time to let out a startled cry, Lydia lands a quick kick to the back of his legs and he goes down, landing heavily on his knees.

"Lydia!" he cries, half in surprise and half in pain. "What are you doing?"

Satisfied that her job is complete, she circles round and stands in front of him. Stiles watches calmly as Isaac struggles against the ropes, even his werewolf powers no match for the magically-enhanced ropes they'd brought especially for the occasion.

"Scott wants to help," Isaac says desperately, looking up at Stiles with pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this. Let Scott -"

"Scott," Stiles interrupts, pleased to see fear flash through Isaac's eyes, "doesn't really want much at the moment, on account of him being unconscious and all."

Isaac stops struggling, his eyes widening. "What did you do to him?"

"That's really not the point," Stiles says, nodding his head to Lydia. As one they walk toward Isaac, who tries to get away – but of course he can't. "The point is, Isaac, that you're about to help us turn your girlfriend evil. How do you feel about that?"

"You stay away from her," Isaac snarls.

Stiles laughs. The poor boy doesn't have a chance, but he does have spirit. "Let's get this started, shall we," Stiles suggests, crouching down in front of Isaac. Lydia stands behind him, holding Isaac's shoulders to stop him from struggling.

"Stop," Isaac says again, "Lydia, please stop. We want to help."

"Did it ever occur to you," she murmurs into his ear, "that I don't want your help?"

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Stiles pulls a vial from his pocket, unscrews the cap, and quickly tips the contents down Isaac's throat. The werewolf struggles – against the hands holding him and the poison entering his body – but there's nothing he can do. After a couple of agonizing minutes, he slumps to the ground. Lydia raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Stiles nods. She unties Isaac and steps back. The werewolf doesn't move.

"Isaac," Stiles says, and the boy looks up at him but still doesn't move. "Sit up."

Seemingly unaware of what he's doing, Isaac sits up. His eyes are glazed over, his expression completely empty. A blank canvas.

"I need you to listen to me," Stiles says, waiting for the other boy to nod before he goes on. The mind control potion – which is, incidentally, a mixture of herbs which can all be found at the local supermarket – is working, because Isaac focuses his full attention on Stiles, waiting for commands. "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to believe me. Can you do that?"

Isaac nods so eagerly that his hair flops into his eyes. Stiles watches him carefully as he says the phrase that Isaac needs to know, the one that will either make or break them. "Now," Stiles says, rocking back on his heels and surveying the werewolf in front of him, "repeat that back to me."

Without any hesitation, Isaac does. "I killed Scott."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Poor Isaac. What do you think, will Stydia be able to get to Allison, or will someone stop them? Next chapter is a flashback to how the nogitsune first got to Lydia, so you won't want to miss that. See you all next time!**


	6. Restraint

**Okay, so I didn't get to my 30 reviews, BUT you few who did review are amazing, and a special shoutout to new reader Aaya123Woods who went wild reviewing my stories today and is a large part of why I'm updating so quickly. As always, more reviews = faster update. It takes me over an hour to write each chapter, it takes you less than a minute to review. I may not be good at math but even that makes sense to me. In response to a couple of things you guys said:**

**gossgal33 - don't worry, Lydia definitely has her reasons for being with the nogitsune. You'll see.**  
**Guest: here ya go.**  
**PrideandtheFall - go away, no one likes you. (No but really thanks for the review.)**  
**ILikeToSneeze - Stiles had a reason to let the nogitsune in, and you're on the right track with what it is.**  
**Aaya123Woods - Beautifully Diabolical Stiles is now my new favorite phrase, so thank you for that, and for your enthusiastic review.**

**All right. That's all. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

"A nogitsune," Lydia repeats later that day. They'd gone straight to Scott's after the run-in with Stiles at the school, and it had been almost painfully quiet on the drive over there. Lydia is still processing it, trying to understand how in the hell Stiles, _their_ Stiles, could be possessed by some kind of evil spirit. "Which is what, exactly?"

Allison rests her bow across her lap, tapping her fingernails on it as she looks at her best friend. "It's a type of kitsune," Allison explains. "That's a -"

"Japanese trickster spirit," Lydia cuts in, rolling her eyes when the others look at her in surprise. "Why are you always surprised when I actually know things?"

Scott shrugs, leaning forward, his hands clasped and dangling between his legs. He looks relaxed enough, but Lydia can see the anxiety in his eyes. "There are several types of kitsune," Scott says. "This one is the worst – a dark spirit, one that only wants destruction. It doesn't just want to trick people – it wants to destroy them."

Lydia blinks, letting the information sink in. It seems crazy to think that Stiles – possessed or not – could do anything more destructive than accidentally breaking a window with his lacrosse stick trying to catch a long pass. "How did you find out about this, anyway?"

"My dad has a… history with it," Allison says carefully. "We talked to a… friend of his, who explained what was going on. And then we talked to Kira -"

"Wait," Lydia says, holding up a hand to silence her friend. "What does Kira have to do with it?"

To his credit, Scott only hesitates for a fraction of a second. "She's a kitsune," he says. "But not a nogitsune – one of the good ones."

"So we have a kitsune, who's Kira, and a nogitsune, who's Stiles. One of them's good and one of them wants to kill us all. Does that about sum it up?" Lydia crosses one leg over the other and looks at her two friends – one a hunter, one an alpha. It occurs to her to wonder when life became so crazy, when Beacon Hills became a beacon for every supernatural creature in a hundred mile radius.

"Pretty much," Scott says, his voice strained. He doesn't say anything, but they can both tell how upset he is. He's the alpha, the guy with a plan and a way to save everyone, and yet he's on the verge of losing his best friend.

Alarm shoots through Lydia as she considers what it would be like if Allison was the one possessed. She certainly wouldn't be able to sit here calmly and explain what a nogitsune is and not have her mind be completely taken over with worry for her friend. But as she listens to Scott and Allison discuss how they found out about the nogitsune, Lydia realizes that part of her fear doesn't stem from concern for Allison – it's concern for them. A hunter possessed by a dark spirit would spell death for all of them, but Stiles? He's never been dangerous, and only very occasionally threatening.

She's worried for him, of course, but she's not worried for them. Even with a dark spirit attached to him, she just can't imagine him being dangerous. Then she remembers the look in his eyes back at the chem lab, and a shiver snakes up her spine.

"The problem is," Allison says as Lydia tunes back in, "that we don't know how to kill it without killing Stiles."

"Which is not an option," Scott says quickly, as if he'd been expecting Lydia to suggest that they off the guy she may well have feelings for (she hasn't quite admitted it to herself yet, but she knows she can't hide it much longer). "We need to find a way to save him and kill the demon."

"I know," Allison says tightly. "My dad's looking into it, and he'll let us know if he finds anything."

"What about the others?" Lydia asks. "The rest of the pack, I mean."

Scott sits up straight, his hands on his knees now and his expression growing more serious by the second. "Isaac is filling Derek in, and the twins are trying to track down Peter."

"What about your mom?" Allison asks.

"I've told her the basics," Scott says, looking like he wishes he hadn't had to do that. "I told her not to get involved unless she really has to, but she understands what's going on."

Something occurs to Lydia, something so horrible that she doesn't even want to say it aloud. But she finds herself saying it anyway. "What about the Sheriff? Does he… does he know?"

Scott and Allison share a look that makes it clear they hadn't even considered this. They're so used to automatically keeping the parents out of it, whether they're nurses, sheriffs, or even hunters. They'd probably been so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with Stiles that they hadn't even thought to tell his father.

"We're going to have to tell him," Scott says, covering his face with his hands. He stays like that for a couple of beats and then looks up, schooling his face into a calm expression. "I can do that once we finish here."

Allison dips her head, and for a second Lydia considers volunteering to go with Scott to tell the Sheriff. But she knows she couldn't handle that, not even with her alpha by her side, so instead she offers to drive Allison home. "Unless there's anything else we need to cover?" she asks.

Scott shakes his head. "Just stay away from Stiles," he says. "He might try to approach you – any of us – but we can't know for sure if it's him or the demon. It's safer for all of us if we just stay away."

Lydia nods in understanding, and as she does she feels something shift in her mind. The buzzing, which had faded into background noise since the chem lab, is rising now, like a river of noise, and she closes her eyes to try to block it out. She takes a couple of deep breaths, willing herself to stay calm, and when she opens her eyes both Scott and Allison are looking at her. Before they can ask what's wrong, she gets to her feet. "I'll be right back," she says, making a beeline for the bathroom.

It's colder in here, and that almost distracts her from the clutter in her mind. "Not now," she mutters, "please not now."

The buzzing gets louder, and this time there's voices mixed in, spiking every now and then, so that she can catch the odd word. _Help. Stop. Run._

She walks over to the sink, gripping it hard with both hands, and looks at the tap so she doesn't have to look at herself in the mirror. "I can't hear you," she mumbles, hating the way this makes her feel. For someone who's used to mastering everything from archaic Latin to obscure Russian poetry, he inability to master her banshee powers is particularly frustrating. Lydia is used to getting what she wants, and, more than that, just _knowing_ what she wants. But even now she doesn't know whether she wants the voices to stop or to become loud enough for her to hear. "Either speak up," she grits out, "or shut up."

The voices do neither, continuing to drift in and out of the background buzzing. Her skin begins to feel clammy as her panic increases, so with a trembling hand she turns on the tap, watching cold water spill from it for almost a minute before she cups her hands in the stream. Then she splashes it over her face, again and again, the coldness jolting her enough to quieten the buzzing for almost a whole second.

As she turns off the tap, something catches in her throat. She turns the tap back on and swallows some of the water, but that just seems to make it worse. She waits a couple of minutes, but it doesn't go away; if anything, it seems to get worse. Just as she's beginning to work herself up into a state of panic, there's a knock at the door.

"Lydia?" Allison calls. "Are you okay in there?"

"Fine," Lydia calls back, and then she makes the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror. She can vaguely recognize the girl looking back at her, but it's not quite her. The skin is too pale, the eyes too troubled, the lips no longer their usual vibrant shade of red. That last issue she can fix at least, and one carefully applied swipe of lipstick makes her look a little more like the old Lydia. So Stiles is possessed; they can deal with it, like they've dealt with everything else that's come their way.

She flings open the door, fixing Allison with her best smile. Allison blinks, taken aback, but doesn't mention it. "Scott's already gone to the Sheriff's. Are you ready to go now?"

"Sure." Lydia closes the door carefully behind her, leaving that old, washed-out Lydia behind her. She's not the kind of girl to run and hide, to turn away when things get tough. She's the kind of girl to fight it out, and that's what she's going to do.

This resolve lasts until they're halfway to Allison's house, and then Lydia starts to realize that something is wrong. The buzzing has faded again, but the voices are louder. Or rather, the _voice_ is louder. There's only one now, and it's not one of the ones she'd heard back in the bathroom. And something tells her that this isn't the kind of voice she should listen to. It's not the echo of someone dying, and she almost wishes it were. That would be less terrifying than what the voice is actually saying.

She tries to ignore it, but the effort makes her hands shake and she can hardly grip the steering wheel. She curls her fingers more tightly around it, staring straight ahead and not letting herself fall into her mind. It gets harder as the night gets darker, clouds obscuring the moon and stars and making Lydia feel cold.

"Hey," Allison says in concern. "Lydia, you're shaking. Are you okay?"

"I would be if people stopped asking me that," she snaps, and then she bites her lip. She's not that annoyed by it, so where did that outburst come from? Allison didn't deserve it, and Lydia opens her mouth to apologize, but what comes out instead is, "Just mind your own business and stay out of my way."

Allison bites back what is undoubtedly a sharp response, and turns her gaze out the window. Lydia takes another deep breath, but it's more shaky than calming. About a block away from Allison's house, the buzzing stops. And the voice rings out in Lydia's mind, crystal clear and filling every crevice.

_Kill her._

Woah. That thought had definitely not come from Lydia… right? Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, ignoring Allison's startled cry.

_Kill her. Do it now._

"I won't," she says, not realizing that she'd spoken aloud until Allison gives her a puzzled look. "I won't do it."

"Do what?" Allison twists around in her seat so she's facing her friend. "What's going on?"

_Kill. Her._

"I can't," she says, not sure whether she's talking to the voice in her head or to her best friend. She can't explain what's going on, because she doesn't have a freaking clue.

"Lydia." Allison's voice catches and she reaches a hand out to hold Lydia's, but the latter jerks out of the way. "If you're worried about Stiles -"

"I'm not," she says, and the words sound true even though she knows it's a lie. Without looking at Allison, she says firmly, "Get out."

"What?" Disbelief makes Allison's voice sharp.

Lydia turns to look at her, her gaze hard and her mouth a thin line. "I said get out. _Now_."

Something in her voice must get through to her, because Allison doesn't argue. She hesitates, but then she opens the door and steps out. She leans in through the open window, probably intending on saying something comforting, but Lydia doesn't want to hear it. She turns back to the front, revs the engine, and guns forward. Allison stumbles back, throwing her hands up, but Lydia doesn't look back.

She just drives, no purpose or destination in mind, just hoping that she can forget that there are some things she can't outrun.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Next chapter n-Stiles and Lydia make their move against Allison, and you'll find out if it works. So get reviewing to find out what happens. ;)**


	7. Frenemy

**What's up, lovely reviewers. I notice a few of you have stopped reviewing, and yet I have some more lurkers - so as always, just a reminder that reviews make me really happy and less likely to kill everyone off in the end, so if you have a spare minute, any review is welcome. Thank you to my regulars - you know who you are - because you're all wonderful and you make me wish I could update every day. And as usual, I can't help myself so I've been writing lots of other things, so if you like my work feel free to take a stroll through my other stories. For now, here is the next chapter. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

It starts to rain as Lydia pulls out of the McCall's street. Isaac's already gone, taking a cross-country route that will get him to Allison's more quickly than the drive will. They'll meet him there in a couple minutes, but in the meantime they have this moment to themselves. So far everything's going to plan, and as long as Isaac follows the script they should be able to get Allison over to their side. Scott's already out of the picture, and this will probably incapacitate Isaac for at least a day afterwards, so the pack will be without a leader. Without protection. Without a chance.

Stiles glances over at Lydia, whose face is serene as she navigates through the dark streets. Every now and then they pass under a streetlamp and the light washes over her, bathing her in a dim glow. He has to admit, he can see what the real Stiles sees in her. She'd seemed a little jittery at first, but now the plan is underway she hasn't hesitated. She'll do whatever it takes to see it through.

They only have a few minutes, but it's long enough. Stiles leans the chair back and closes his eyes, immersing himself in darkness. When he opens his eyes, he's back in the room with concrete walls and a metal floor. The fluorescent lights flicker against his skin, making him feel alive. Then he catches sight of the real Stiles, who looks very much dead. He's cowered in the corner, his hands over his face and a low moan slipping through his lips.

"Hey," says the Stiles who isn't really Stiles, the nogitsune-Stiles.

The real Stiles looks up and then away again quickly, as if he thinks that will change the facts. He doesn't say anything, and he clamps his mouth shout, cutting off the moan.

"You know what's going on, don't you?" n-Stiles asks, sauntering over to him. He hasn't been to visit as often as he should have, but he's always aware of Stiles in the back of his mind – literally. He's trapped here, able to see what n-Stiles is doing but unable to do a blessed thing about it. "You can see it. We've already got Lydia, and we're going after Allison now. And Scott, well, he's not looking so good."

Stiles says something so low that n-Stiles can't hear him.

"Hm?" says n-Stiles, crouching down in front of him. The boy doesn't look at him, but that's okay. "What was that?"

Now Stiles does look at him, pain making his eyes dark and twisting his face into an expression that makes it look like someone is actually torturing him. That's the beauty of it, n-Stiles thinks. He doesn't even have to touch him to hurt him; emotional pain works just as well. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," n-Stiles replies smoothly, "it's what I do. It's what I live for, what I breathe for – and what you'll die for."

Stiles swallows, making no move to stop the tears that are rolling down his cheeks. "Are you going to kill me?"

The lights buzz overhead, and behind that is the faint sound of rain. "Not just you, Stiles. All of them. Maybe I'll start with Scott."

All the color drains from Stiles' face at the mention of his best friend. n-Stiles had felt the real Stiles' reaction to Scott's kidnap, and that had only added to the excitement. "Please stop," Stiles begs.

The sound of rain gets louder, and n-Stiles knows it's time to leave. With a last crooked smile at the real Stiles, he opens his eyes. Lydia is tapping impatiently on the window of the car, gesturing for him to get out. He looks past her, at the Argents' building, but he can barely see it through the driving rain. When he gets out of the car Lydia grabs his hand and almost drags him to the door. It's easy enough getting in, and they know that Mr Argent is out tonight. Stiles reflects on how convenient it is that the parents are always away when they need them to be – it saves killing them, for now at least. Allison's front door is ajar, as instructed, and they slip inside and make their way to her room.

That door is wide open, and they can see both Allison and Isaac inside. Stiles hands Lydia a small red sachet that smells vaguely like rosemary. She sniffs it, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What is this?" she asks.

"It's imbued with a kind of invisibility spell," he explains, and she shrugs and tucks it into her bra. Stiles has one too, and although it's not for invisibility in the traditional sense, it will still get the job done. Allison and Isaac will be able to see them, but will forget as soon as they have. They can watch without fear of interrupting or being attacked.

He feels a slight shiver as the spell kicks in, and he and Lydia walk into the room. Allison glances at them, but then her eyes glaze over and she looks away again; Isaac's gaze doesn't shift from Allison's face.

"What is this?" Allison asks.

Stiles guides Lydia over to the bed and they sit down side by side, their knees brushing and their fingers intertwined. Isaac and Allison are standing two feet apart, he with his hands in his pocket and she with her arms wrapped around herself. They've already missed the start, but they haven't missed the best part.

"I have something to tell you," Isaac says, his voice lower than usual. He sounds sure of himself, like he had – Stiles notes with some amusement – when he was still running around with Derek and his pack. He's gone soft since he joined Scott's pack, but here's a glimpse of Isaac the way he used to be.

"Wh-what is it?" Allison clears her throat to try to cover up the shake in her voice, and to her credit she resists the urge to take a step back. Stiles shares a look with Lydia, silently conveying his excitement – Allison was definitely a good choice. She's weak enough to be manipulated, but strong enough to be an asset.

Isaac lowers his head, looking at his army boots caked with mud and leaves, and then he looks back up at her. His eyes are glowing red. Allison takes that step back now, her hand flying to her mouth. Beside Stiles, Lydia gasps.

"Is he really an alpha?" Lydia asks, sounding more amazed than confused. "I mean, did you… _Can_ you…?"

"No," Stiles says with only a hint of bitterness. "I don't have that kind of power. But a glamor's easy enough to produce."

Allison steps forward now, her hand still covering her mouth. She slowly lowers it, staring at Isaac in amazement. "You… you're an alpha. How did this… What did you do?"

The pieces seem to fall into place in her mind – the only way to become an alpha is to kill theirs. Unless you happen to be a true alpha, but Scott is the first one of those that Beacon Hills has seen.

Isaac shakes his head and the red glow fades from his eyes. "I did what I had to do," he says, his voice expressionless and his eyes blank.

"Did you…" Allison starts, then cuts herself off and tries again. "Does Scott know about this?"

A smile spreads across Isaac's face, but it quickly slips into a smirk. Stiles looks at Lydia again, seeing the eagerness in her eyes; this is where things really start happening. "It would be kind of strange if he didn't," Isaac says, "since he was there."

This seems to trip up Allison's thoughts. She puzzles it through, evidently trying to imagine a scenario in which Scott would stand by and let Isaac become an alpha. Then one thought in particular catches her, and Stiles can see in her eyes that she's doing everything she can not to acknowledge it.

"Isaac," Allison says, her voice shifting from scared to suspicious, "you didn't… I mean, Scott's okay, right? He didn't get hurt?"

"No," Isaac assures her, "he didn't get hurt." He pauses just long enough for relief to wash over Allison's face, and then he deadpans, "He died."

Allison's eyes widen as she searches his face for some hint of a lie or uncertainty, anything that will tell her that this isn't true. Finding none, she says quietly, "Scott's dead?" Then she bites her lip and changes her tune. "No. _No._ It's not possible."

She shakes her head to emphasize her point, but Stiles can see the news sinking into her mind, seeping into her heart. That was the key to this whole plan – not her feelings for Isaac, but her feelings for Scott. Which is why Stiles had engineered it so that Allison will believe Isaac did something unforgiveable. Allison's gone off the deep end before, remorselessly hunting down the people she believed responsible for her mother's death, and making her believe Scott is dead is a sure way to push her down that path again.

"It's not just possible," Isaac says. "It's _true_."

"It can't be," she says, but tears are already welling in her eyes. "Scott can't be dead. He just can't. What makes you so sure he is?"

With perfect timing, Isaac cracks a smile and says, "Because I killed him."

Stiles grips Lydia's hand more tightly, knowing they're headed into the final confrontation. She squeezes his hand, and he can feel her blood pumping, her heart racing. She's as excited as he is.

"You killed Scott?" Allison says, a tear already sliding down her cheek even though she tries to sound dismissively sceptical. "Isaac, you would never do that. You would never hurt Scott. He's your friend -"

"And he's also an alpha." Isaac feigns embarrassment. "I'm sorry. He _was_ an alpha. How else was I going to become one?"

"You killed Scott so you could take his place in the pack?" Allison says, and it looks like she might actually be taking him seriously now. The magic-induced darkness in Isaac's eyes is incredibly convincing.

"You really think I wanted to stay a beta forever?" Isaac asks derisively. "This has been my plan all along, Allison. And now that's Scott's out of the way, we can start our own pack."

"I'm not a werewolf," Allison points out, her eyes roaming the room in search of a weapon.

Isaac cocks an eyebrow. "Not yet."

Allison's eyes snap back up to him. "No," she says, seeing his alpha-red eyes and knowing what it means. "Isaac, _no_."

Ignoring her, he crosses the space between them, fangs bared and a hungry look in his eyes. He grabs her before she can get away, and he lowers his mouth to her arm –

\- only for her to shove him away as hard as she can. Stiles almost cheers – she's come a long way as a hunter. Isaac straightens and comes at her again, but she keeps fending him off, and with each push Stiles can see her come to terms with the truth – or at least the truth that Isaac had presented her. She believes he killed Scott, and as soon as the anger kicks in, they'll be able to finish their plan.

"Stop!" she shouts, reaching for her ring daggers – the same ones she'd cut him with last time she'd gone on a quest for revenge. He doesn't stop, and she doesn't hesitate. She charges at him, and in that moment Stiles knows they've won.

Stiles unfurls his fist, revealing a small black fly on his palm. It flutters its wings and then shoots forward, straight to Allison. She swallows it without realizing, but a second later she pulls up short, coughing. Isaac freezes, hands in front of him in a defensive posture. Stiles and Lydia hold their breath. Allison wheezes, coughs again, and then stands up straight.

A long moment passes. Stiles whispers a string of words to break the invisibility spell, and as one the other two turn to them. Allison blinks a couple of times, and then she smiles. She turns to Isaac, very deliberately, and punches him in the face. He drops to the floor without a sound. Then Allison turns back to Stiles and Lydia.

"So," she says, swinging the ring daggers absently on her fingers, "you guys got any plans for tonight?"

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Okay, so, I've always kind of been Team Human (y'know, back when there was one) and I love the idea of Stiles, Lydia, and Allison - as the non-wolfy members of the pack - being underestimated only to reveal that they're totally badass. So here you go. What do you think they're going to get up to? Now, next chapter something really, really big happens, so review away and I'll have it up soon. Trust me, it's big.  
**


	8. Raving

**Hey everyone, and thanks for the reviews. It's been great to see some of you over in my other stories too; you guys are the reason I keep writing, so don't underestimate how important a simple review is. This chapter gets very dark, so be warned. As always, reviews make me really happy and more likely to update soon, and also motivate me to work on my in-progress stories (info's in my profile, if you're interested). So enjoy the chapter, and I hope to hear from you all in the reviews!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

It had been bad enough when she was hearing echoes, but now she's hearing commands. Voices telling her to do things that go against her nature, her morals, the person she's trying so desperately to be. It's not what they're actually saying that scares her the most – it's the fear that she might listen to them. Last night she'd driven for over an hour, and the most she'd managed to achieve was to replace the voices with that damned buzzing.

Next morning the voices are back, and they're louder than ever. As she gets ready for the days – adding extra dashes of color to her outfit and an almost unnecessary amount of flair to her makeup in the vain hope that it will help her convince herself that everything's nowhere near as dark as it feels – Lydia notes that it's actually mostly one voice, the one that had told her to kill Allison in the car last night. Logically she knows she would never do anything to hurt her friend, if she has any say about it – but the problem is that she might _not_ have a say.

During the drive to school her mind occupies itself by replaying the horrible events that had led to her becoming entangled in the supernatural: Peter biting her, her body rejecting the bite, being manipulated into helping Peter resurrect himself, saving Jackson, being attacked by the darach. And, with more than a slight pang, she remembers that awful night at the motel, when all the wolves had been hit by wolfsbane and tried to kill themselves. She normally doesn't let herself think of that night, but today it lingers in her mind.

Stiles had talked to her that night, admitting that he thought she might have been somehow involved in the murders. She'd known that he'd had suspicions that she might have been the kanima, and then he had thought she was connected to the darach. If Stiles, the person who had always believed the best of her even when she didn't deserve it, had thought she was capable of hurting people, who's to say it's not going to happen now?

She's still lost in her thoughts when she walks into first period, and almost bumps into someone in the doorway. For a second her heart catches in her throat and she looks up at him, but it's not him. It's not Stiles; and even though she knows that if it was, it would still be the nogitsune, she's disappointed. "Sorry," she says to the boy, whose name she can't even recall, and she tries to step around him.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, steadying, and tries to catch her eye. "You okay, Lydia?"

A hint of guilt shivers through her at the fact that she doesn't know his name when he knows her, but it's quickly washed away in the rush of emotions that follows. She feels the tickle in her throat again, and she coughs into her hand. The boy looks concerned, and she waves her hand to indicate that she's fine. "Yeah," she says, "thanks."

She expects him to move out of her way but he doesn't. He doesn't even move until the teacher brushes past them, and then Lydia takes the opportunity to slip past the boy and hurry to her seat, but she can feel his eyes on her as the teacher starts the lesson. Normally she would pay attention, but everything in her head is still fuzzy and loud and it's impossible to concentrate on anything given the enormity of the fact that Stiles, their Stiles, is missing. Possessed. God knows where doing god knows what.

Allison slides a note across the desk to her, not lifting her eyes from her book. Lydia takes it and unfurls it, expecting her to ask about what happened last night. Instead, it says:

_Are you okay?_

She wishes people would stop asking her that. She debates not answering, but she owes Allison this much at least, given how abrupt she'd been with her last night. She scribbles back a suitably vague but affirmative response, all the while listening for the voice, the one that had told her to kill Allison. It doesn't have a thing to say, and the rest of the morning passes by quietly. At lunch she sits with Allison and Scott, instinctively, even though part of her thinks she should be away from them. If she's going to do something, if she's going to let the voice control her, then she shouldn't endanger the rest of the pack. Isaac joins them halfway through lunch, bearing the news that Derek is now on the hunt for Stiles, which does little to settle Lydia's stomach.

She can feel someone watching her, and she scans the cafeteria, tuning out Scott and Isaac talking about how much they should tell the sheriff. In the far corner is the boy from class, the one whose name she can now recall – Carl. They only have the one class together, but she's seen him around before – and she's seen him seeing _her_. But she'd always been too distracted to pay him any mind, too busy with her latest conquest to give a second thought to the boy with dark hair and impossibly bright blue eyes.

But she's paying attention to him now, unsettled by the way he's looking at her. She raises her eyebrows, letting him know that he's been seen, but he doesn't look away. He just keeps watching her, curious and unapologetic, until finally she turns back to the pack.

Allison, astute as always, notices that Lydia isn't acting like herself, and doesn't leave her side for the rest of the afternoon. Lydia puts up with this because her friend is only trying to help, but it bothers her that her friends think she needs protecting. She's definitely the weakest one in the pack; the only skills she has are either irrelevant or abilities she can't control, and if it comes down to a fight she's going to be useless. But she wants to help, and she can't do that if everyone is always trying to keep her out of trouble.

"Okay," she says at the end of the day, leaning against her locker and surveying her best friend, "what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Allison asks, feigning innocence as she applies another coat of lip gloss.

"I mean," Lydia says pointedly, "that you don't have to follow me around all day. I know I was acting a little _off_ last night, but I'm fine now."

She almost adds _I promise _but her lips won't quite form the words. And as Allison keeps looking at her, the desire to lie starts to dissipate. She doesn't want to do this alone, and she doesn't need to keep it to herself. If she's really involved somehow, if she's going to pose a threat to any of her friends, then she needs to let them know what's going on.

"… you can tell me," Allison is saying, fiddling with the lock on her locker.

"I know." Lydia swallows, feeling that same tickle in her throat, and then starts to explain that she's been hearing voices and she's scared she's going to act on them. She tries to tell Allison everything, but all she manages to say is, "I'm just worried about Stiles. It doesn't feel right, being here without him. I can't stop thinking about it."

Lydia barely even hears Allison's response because she's so busy trying to deconstruct what she herself had said. She hadn't meant to say that, but it's not untrue. She does miss Stiles, and she's worried about him, but that's not why she's acting so strangely. After Allison has finished reassuring her, Lydia tries again.

"Last night, something…" She trips over her tongue and her words stumble to a stop. She wants to tell Allison what's been going on, but she physically can't. "Allison, I think that..."

Her words falter again and her eyes widen. She literally can't tell her best friend what's going on, and somehow that's more terrifying than what is actually going on.

"Lydia, what is it?" Allison asks, not pretending to be innocent or ignorant anymore. There's no time for games or tricks, not when the nogitsune is still out there driving Stiles' body around. He wasn't at school today, which makes it seem like Stiles isn't in control anymore.

"It's nothing," she says, and then she turns on her heel and walks away. Allison calls out behind her but Lydia doesn't let her steps slow or her resolve falter. She's sure something's going on now, something that stopping her from being able to communicate with her friends, so it must be up to her to figure out what it is.

When she reaches the parking lot, it's almost empty. She pauses with her keys in her hand, praying that she's not sensing what she thinks she's sensing. But sure enough, it's Carl, standing behind her with a polite smile on his face.

"Hey Lydia," he says. "Can we talk?"

She darts a look around the parking lot. It's empty now. She turns back to him. "We are talking."

"I know," he says, seeming jittery. Something about that causes Lydia's heart to thud faster against her chest. "I mean, somewhere private."

Normally she would say no, she would tell him that she's not interested, but whatever force had stopped her from telling the truth to Allison takes control again now, and before she knows it she's nodding her head.

Carl seems relieved, and he jerks his head to indicate that they make their way up behind the gym. She follows him, and as they walk she realizes why his manner unsettles her. He's full of the same kind of restless energy that Stiles was. _Is_. She catches her slip-up with past tense and actually comes to a stop, hating herself for even thinking it. Stiles is possessed; he's not dead.

"What's up?" Carl asks, turning back to her, but she shakes her head and follows him up the slight incline, and around the back of the gym.

As soon as they get there, she knows what's going on. And she knows she's not interested. There's a hungry look in his eyes, explaining why he's been watching her – he wants to do more than look. He takes a step forward and she backs up, until she's against the wall. Panic flutters in her chest, but then something else takes over, something that runs deeper than her instincts. Something that takes control entirely.

Carl keeps pushing against her, and even pins her arms against the wall, his lips brushing her cheek and then planting a trail down her neck. She shudders, but then it's like she takes a step outside herself, like she's not in control and she's not sure she wants to be. She brings her knee up and rams it into Carl's stomach, causing him to let go at once. Her instincts tell her to get out while she can, but she's not in control anymore.

She grabs his shoulders and slams him against the wall, hard, watching shock flicker through his eyes and hearing a low groan escape from his lips. He slumps to the ground and covers his face with his hands, looking at her through his fingers. She thinks he's begging for her to stop but she can't really hear him. She crouches down beside him, and now he tries to fight back, pushing her so that she almost loses her balance. Almost. She manages to maneuver herself so that she's straddling him, pinning him to the ground.

"Lydia," he gasps, "stop. What are you doing?"

"What I'm supposed to," she says calmly, in a voice that belongs to her but seems to come from somewhere else entirely. She's not sure how but suddenly there's a knife in her hand, and she manages to hold back for a second, just long enough for him to look her in the eye, and then she sees the same sickening lust and she plunges the knife into his heart.

She expects to scream, because that's what banshees do, but she doesn't. She expects to hear the voices pipe up again, but they don't. Her hands are covered in blood and her heart is thudding against her chest and she expects to feel a wave of guilt… but she doesn't.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Bear with me. I know what I'm doing. Next chapter Stiles and Lydia let Allison in on a little secret...**


	9. Visionary

**Sup guys. Thanks for the reviews. Keep reviewing like that, because I can update as often as necessary - and once I finish publishing this story, I have more to come. Speaking of which, I recently started a new story, and due to the nature of the project I will probably be in need of a beta reader. So if anyone knows someone who'd be interested, let me know. For now, enjoy the chapter. Or at least, don't hate me after the chapter. Consider that a warning.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

It feels like all the weight has been lifted from Allison's shoulders. She casts a dismissive glance down at Isaac, who's still on the ground, and wonders why she cared enough to attack him. She can't even remember what it had been about, just that she had been furious – which makes her laugh now. There's nothing to be furious about. Life is good, she's here with her friends, and they have the whole night ahead of them.

Stiles and Lydia are still sitting on the bed, and it occurs to her that she wasn't aware of them coming into her room, but somehow their presence is unsurprising. They share a look, and then they stand up. For one wild moment she thinks Lydia is going to hug her, but then the other girl just skirts around her and nudges Isaac with her toe.

"Will he remember this when he wakes up?" Lydia asks.

Stiles folds his arms and looks down at the limp body of the werewolf. "Yeah, he'll remember all of it. But he won't wake up for a few hours, I'd say. You hit him pretty hard -" now he turns to Allison "- which is quite impressive, by the way, for -"

"For a girl?" she interrupts, raising an eyebrow and accompanying this with another twirl of the ring daggers.

Stiles makes a face, like he's amused by her audacity. "I was going to say, for someone who looks like she's running on about two hours of sleep."

"You're one to talk," Allison shoots back, equally amused. She's aware that Stiles is a nogitsune, she knows what he's done to Lydia, and yet somehow she doesn't care. She should be calling Scott or fighting Stiles or saving Lydia, but instead she just wants to do something wild, something reckless, to make her remember what it's like to feel alive. "Before you disappeared you were practically a zombie."

"And now," Stiles says, his eyes landing on Lydia, "I'm something so much worse."

Allison is aware that this should be intimidating, that she should be scared, but she isn't – and she wonders why she had been scared to begin with. Instinctively she knows that Stiles is on her side, and so is Lydia, and that's good enough for her.

"So what do we do now?" Lydia asks, her eyes trained on Allison like she thinks the other girl is about to jump out the window.

Stiles checks his watch, and Allison is struck by how deliberate his movements are. In the back of her mind is an image of the old Stiles, the way he used to be – nervous energy and restless fidgeting and constant movement. There was always a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, even when he was terrified, and Allison had been equally comforted and annoyed by the way he was always moving. Now his movements are slow and calculated, at complete odds with the guy she remembers. And, if she's honest, she much prefers this version.

"We have a bit of time to play with," Stiles says, his voice steady and not a hint of unease anywhere about him. Allison remembers the last time she'd seen Stiles, but that seems like a lifetime ago. "Why don't we take Allison back to the house?"

"You mean the hideout," Lydia says.

Allison blinks. "You have a hideout?"

"Actually," Lydia says, looping her arm through Allison's and steering her toward the door, "_we_ have a hideout."

Stiles brings up the rear as the two girls exit the house, leaving Isaac lying on the floor. Apparently he's not a threat, because the other two don't even think of bringing him with them – or of killing him. Allison considers killing him, but something stops her. It's not time yet. She and Lydia slide into the back seat and Stiles takes the wheel, and on the way to the hideout Lydia fills Allison in on everything they've been up to since they both went missing. Allison listens with growing amusement, and she briefly wonders why she doesn't feel worse about this. Isn't this everything she's supposed to be against, everything she and Scott and the others had once fought to prevent? But here they are, she and Stiles and Lydia, three paragons of good who have fallen off the path.

"What about Scott?" she asks, realizing that Lydia hasn't mentioned him yet.

"Scott is… occupied," Lydia says evasively, which piques Allison's interest. She's about to ask more about him, but Lydia keeps talking. "We have some things we need to take care of in the next couple of days – the twins, for example, and Derek – but I'm sure you can help us with that, right?"

"Absolutely," Allison says without a second thought. She's aware that just this morning she had been in Scott's pack, but she understands that she's stepped away from that. She's with Lydia and Stiles now, and as she fiddles with the daggers in her lap, she realizes that she's perfectly okay with that.

They pull up outside an old building, the kind that Allison would never usually give a second look, but the way Stiles and Lydia are looking at it now makes it clear that this is their home – or their hideout, at least. It sounds like this is their base, but sometimes they spend a night or two at a hotel. She starts to thank them for giving her this chance – she knows that she could have ended up like Isaac, or worse – but they're halfway up the stairs before she's even opened her mouth. She jogs to catch up, and meets them just as they're opening the door.

It's dark inside, but somehow that makes it more welcoming than foreboding. Still, she sticks close to Lydia as they make their way down the hall and into the kitchen, where Stiles gives them both plates of what look like freshly made chocolate brownies.

Lydia picks one up, looking at it slightly suspiciously. "When did you have time to make these?"

Stiles, on his way to the fridge, stops to plant a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm a man of many talents."

Allison snickers, wondering how this can possibly feel so relaxing. She knows there's still work to be done, but for now they can relax – and god, it's been so long since she's relaxed. They eat their brownies in relative quiet, but she can sense there's something the others aren't telling her. She wants to ask what it is, but, again, she knows that it's not the right time. So she nibbles on a brownie and listens as Lydia and Stiles start up a conversation about how they think Isaac will react when he wakes up.

"Personally," Stiles is saying, "I'm hoping he goes down the revenge route. He'll come after us, and we'll go after him, and everyone will have a good time."

"Except Isaac," Lydia points out, and the three of them laugh. "I think he's probably just going to go running off to find Scott – which won't end well for him."

There's something in her voice that makes Allison realize she's missing something. She looks from Lydia to Stiles and back again, then sets her half-eaten brownie back on the table, beside her daggers, and says, "Okay, spill. What aren't you telling me?"

Stiles looks at Lydia out of the corner of his eyes. "It's not something we should tell you…"

"It might be better if we show you," Lydia finishes with a sly smile.

"All right," Allison says, her curiosity increasing with every second. "Show me then."

The other two share one of their knowing looks, and then Stiles beckons to her. The two girls follow him back down the hall, to a wide door that seems to lead down to the basement. Allison's curiosity is joined by excitement, although she's not quite sure what's causing it. An hour ago she would have been terrified if she'd been led down to the basement by Stiles or Lydia, but now she feels safe with them, almost at home.

The door opens, a light flicks on, and Stiles steps back to let her through. "Ladies first," he says graciously.

Lydia steps back too. "Go ahead."

Allison walks down the stairs, her excitement increasing with each step, so that by the time she gets down to the bottom she can hardly contain it. It takes her a moment to realize what's strange about the room, but then it clicks – it's not empty. There's someone in the far corner, huddled up against the wall. But as soon as he sees her, Scott unfurls his limbs and almost jumps to his feet, but he staggers a couple of steps and then sags to the ground.

"Scott!" she says, her surprise genuine but her concern feigned.

"Allison," he says, dragging himself into a sitting position. She looks him over, but she can't see any visible injuries besides a bruise on his temple. He seems weak, though, which means that Stiles and Lydia must have done something to him. "Oh, no."

He slumps back to the ground, looking up at her with a pained expression. She glances back at Lydia and Stiles, and then turns back to Scott.

"They got you too," he says, even his voice pained, like the words are almost too heavy to balance on his tongue. "Stiles and Lydia… they got you too…"

Seeing an opportunity, Allison takes it. This is exactly the kind of reckless, ruthless thing she'd been hoping for. "Yeah," she says, kneeling down next to him and doing her best to act like a panicked teen. "They jumped me outside my house."

She can hear Stiles and Lydia close the door, but Scott doesn't notice; he's too focused on the fact that two of his friends have apparently kidnapped his ex-girlfriend. Allison finds herself thinking about how ephemeral – she remembers when Scott went through the phase of using that word in every second sentence – everything is, and how quickly they can change. Not long ago she would have been horrified to see Scott trapped in a place like this, but now she's merely mildly disappointed that she wasn't the one who put him here.

"We need to find a way to get out of here," Scott says, hauling himself into a more upright position. It looks like it causes him actual pain, and Allison wonders what the others did to him.

"There isn't a way," Allison says, projecting the perfect amount of pain and fear into her voice. Scott takes her hand in his, offering her comfort, and she doesn't bother to tell him that she doesn't need it. "Stiles, he's… he's not himself. There isn't anything of him left. It's all just… darkness."

"No." Scott shakes his head. "Stiles is still in there somewhere. I'm not going to give up on him."

This makes Allison smile. Oh, Scott and his never-ending optimism and faith in people. She knows there's nothing left of Stiles – or rather, the tiny sliver that _is_ left won't be enough to even slow them down. It's over for Stiles, and it's over for the old Allison who used to pine over Scott and question her every move and follow in her father's footsteps. And with that ending will come an even more glorious beginning.

"You never give up on people," Allison muses. "That's either your greatest strength or your biggest weakness."

Scott narrows his eyes, trying to figure out if she's giving him a compliment or a warning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Allison says, getting to her feet, "that you should stop being so trusting. It's going to get you killed some day. Maybe even today."

"Allison," Scott says, standing up now too even though he winces with the effort. "What are you talking about?"

His voice is quiet, like he's not sure he actually wants to hear the answer, and his face falls as Allison shoots him a smile. She's played him long enough; it's time to let him in on the game.

"Shh," she says, resting a finger on his lips. He stops breathing, and he freezes; not scared but wary. Oh, but he's going to be scared later on. That much she knows for sure. "It's going to be okay."

Scott grabs her hand, slowly lowering it, searching her face the whole time. She can see the exact moment he catches on. "They got you," he says, his voice heavy with defeat. "They didn't get _to_ you. They _got_ you. They turned you. You're with them, aren't you?"

His voice spikes at the end, like the thought is too horrible even to contemplate, and Allison's smile widens. She taps her nose knowingly, and Scott closes his eyes like she physically hit him. She can follow his train of thought – she's Allison, defender of the weak and protector of the helpless. She's not meant to fall prey to the charms and manipulation of dark spirits. She's supposed to be invincible. She probably is now.

Lydia calls to her from the top of the stairs, the door open once again, flung wide open because they know that Scott is in no fit state to even try to escape. He's outnumbered and he's already weak, so any escape attempt would be suicide. He's brave, but he's not stupid – well, not always, anyway.

"Allison," Scott calls as she starts toward the door, "don't let them control you. You're stronger than that."

She blows him a kiss over her shoulder as she trots up the stairs, meeting Lydia at the top and leading the way back into the hall. Scott's words ring in her ears, painting a smile on her face. She _is_ strong, and for the first time in her life she's not going to let anything hold her back. The world is hers, and she's going to take it with her bare, bloody hands.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review, and I hope to see you all soon.**


	10. Fury

**Ah, man. You guys are wonderful. But I feel just the tiniest bit bad because by the end of this you may well wish they had just killed Scott last chapter. You've been warned. On another note, keep up the amazing reviews, because... *drum roll*... once I finish publishing this (and there's still plenty of chapters to go, remember) I'm going to be publishing a new story. It's called 'fugue' and is an angsty Stydia post-S3 fic based on a prompt from the lovely LoginOrSignUp. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and I think you guys might like it. I mean, as much as anyone can like my stories, given how dark and depressing they are. Anyway. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

The strange this is, as soon as Stiles – the real Stiles – is granted control over his body again, he feels like he's losing his mind. Maybe that's the way this works – there always has to be a balance, so he can have his mind or his body but not both. Then again, there are times when he feels like the nogitsune has taken control of both. He's not sure how long he's been trapped up there this time, but it feels like a long time. Every _second_ feels like a long time when you're trapped inside your own head and forced to watch as an evil fox spirit flits all over town creating chaos.

"You're going to love this," the nogitsune says from somewhere deep in Stiles' mind. Deep, but not hidden, and ready to take control at the slightest hint that Stiles is going to go against him.

Stiles knows better than that, of course. There's no fighting the nogitsune, and even with Scott leading the pack, there might be no defeating it as well. This thing is strong, cunning, ruthless – all the things Stiles isn't, all the things he would never want to be. He's at the school now, leaning against a tree on the far side of the parking lot, watching, waiting.

"What exactly am I waiting for?" he asks – not out loud, because the nogitsune, as always, knows his every thought, sometimes before he's even thought them himself.

"You'll see." The nogitsune gives him a nudge, prompting him forward, and Stiles follows. He's about to ask where he's meant to be going when he sees the only thing he could have possibly come back for – Lydia.

She's walking around to the gym, along with Carl, a guy in their year. Stiles feels a pang of jealousy, but that's quickly overtaken by worry. The nogitsune wouldn't have let him come just to see Lydia make out with some guy; the demon wouldn't have let him take control to watch anything less than a disaster. Stiles grits his teeth, finds a relatively hidden spot, and watches.

Lydia and Carl have a quiet conversation, and she looks increasingly uneasy. Everything in Stiles' body is screaming at him to go to her, to interrupt and chase Carl off and take Lydia in his arms. But there are so many reasons that would never work, and not all of them are to do with the nogitsune. There's something lingering in the back of Stiles' mind, not the nogitsune but something else. It's a faint buzzing, like fluorescent lights – like the lights in the mind-room he's kept in when he's not given free rein like this. A reminder that even though he's in control, this body isn't his anymore. His mind probably isn't either.

He's beginning to understand how Lydia feels. No wonder she's so highly strung, when she's always hearing whispers and screams and other things she can't block out. He glances down and realizes he's fidgeting more than usual, his hands twisting over and over until he's actually worried one of his bones will snap. He pauses for a second, then lets the anxiety take over and keeps fiddling. It's not like he'd feel it anyway.

A noise from up ahead makes him look up sharply, and when he sees what's happening he starts to call out. Then his mouth clamps shut and he knows he wasn't the one who did it – the nogitsune didn't want him making his presence known. Making an effort to be still, Stiles takes control back and keeps watching. Carl is holding Lydia against the wall, and a rush of anger fills Stiles, magnified because he knows he's helpless. The nogitsune didn't bring him here to help; it brought him here to observe.

It brought him here so that he would know exactly what he'd done.

Before Stiles can quite make sense of it, Carl is on the ground and Lydia is on top of him. He looks terrified, but her face is curiously neutral, even a little bit cold. Stiles wonders if she knows what she's doing, or if the nogitsune's magic has taken over her completely. Silently, Stiles watches as Lydia pulls a knife from out of Carl's boot – he recalls that the other boy had been suspended for something similar once – and, with only the minutest hesitation, stabs him with it.

This time Stiles' cry is involuntary, and too quick for the nogitsune to muffle it. Stiles feels something inside him snap and then he's back in that room with the concrete walls and metal floors. He watches as the nogitsune steers his body away from the school, before anyone can catch him. When they're a safe distance away the nogitsune comes to a stop, finding a secluded park and leaning back on the bench. Then he joins Stiles in the mind-room.

"Well," the nogitsune says, "wasn't that fun?"

Stiles is still shaking, still fiddling, still trying to come to terms with the whirlwind of chaos and pain that's become his life. Lydia _killed_ someone. _Lydia_ killed someone. Even though he knows that he's done far worse when controlled by the nogitsune, the thought still makes him balk. Lydia had always been on the fringes of the supernatural, almost brushing up against it, but she had stayed out of it for as long as the others could keep her away. But then she became a banshee, and she played her part, albeit unwillingly – finding the bodies, warning of impending deaths. But she's still meant to be outside that, away from the battlefield. She's meant to be finding the dead bodies, not causing them.

"I'm really looking forward to this," the nogitsune goes on casually. "I'm glad you suggested that we get her involved."

Stiles slumps to the ground, refusing to look at the demon. "This isn't what I meant."

"No?" The nogitsune feigns curiosity. "What did you mean then? Did you expect me to let her be on her merry little way while you and I paint the town red? You know it doesn't work like that, Stiles. She's either with us or against us, and this way… she gets to live."

"Stop." Stiles' eyes dart up to the demon's face and then away again. He clenches his fist to stop it from shaking. "Stop talking about _us_. There _is_ no _us_. I'm not like you, and if I had the choice I would never help you. There's only _you_, and you're not going to win."

"Are you really so sure about that?" The nogitsune raises his eyebrows, and then shakes his head sadly. "You didn't really… Oh. Oh, dear."

He breaks off, and Stiles can feel it slipping inside his mind, browsing through his thoughts, selecting the very ones he'd been so desperate to hide.

"You thought you could save him," the nogitsune says pityingly. "You thought you could make a deal with me to protect Lydia, and then you'd still have time to warn Scott."

Stiles grits his teeth. It was a stupid plan, but he hadn't known what else to do. Lydia was the most vulnerable pack member, both because she doesn't have any special skills or training and because of how Stiles feels about her. The nogitsune had known from the start that the way to silence Stiles, to force him to give up completely, had been to threaten Lydia. But he had hoped, foolishly, that he would be able to warn Scott in time for him to rally the pack and defeat the nogitsune.

So much for that idea. Stiles wraps his arms around his knees, breathes deeply, and tries to remind himself that all isn't lost. Scott's still out there, Lydia's still alive, and the rest of the pack is surely still looking for him. That means there's hope – a chance, however slim, that they might find him.

"They're not going to find you," the nogitsune warns. "I won't let them. You know that, don't you?"

Stiles does know, but he won't let himself believe it. If he does, hope will be gone, and that will be the end of it. Hope can keep him alive indefinitely, even though every day that goes without rescue makes him feel a little more dead. As long as the pack is out there, then there's hope, and that has to be enough. He doesn't look at or respond to the nogitsune.

"That Lydia," the nogitsune goes on, causing Stiles to stiffen, "she's really something, isn't she? The way she just plunged that knife into him. He never saw it coming. She'll be doing a lot more of that in time."

This time Stiles does look at him. "What do you mean?" He tries to sound threatening but his voice is more of a whimper, and he hates himself for it.

"I mean," the nogitsune says with exaggerated slowness, "that this was only the beginning. It won't take long for her to come over to our side. Fully, unreservedly. She'll be mine, Stiles – entirely."

Stiles isn't aware of standing up until he's in front of the nogitsune, his hands reaching for the monster's face. Rage courses through his veins, tinged with a desperate desire to save his friends. He won't be the reason for their fall, won't be responsible for their undoing. He's going to fight to the end.

But the nogitsune just laughs, and suddenly – without having actually moved – Stiles finds himself on the ground again, in that same corner. Walls on either side, the demon in front. Fluorescent lights tingling overhead. Hope leaching away.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Stiles?" the nogitsune asks. "You begged me to keep her safe. _Don't hurt her_. _Please don't touch her_. I kept my word, didn't I? She's not hurt. In fact, she almost seemed to _enjoy_ that, didn't she?"

"No," Stiles grits out. Infected or not, she's still Lydia, and she would never want to hurt anyone. He feels sick at the thought that he was indirectly responsible for infecting her, for causing her to kill someone.

"She's safe, like I promised," the nogitsune says. "And you let me take control, like you promised. So what's the problem?"

"The problem," Stiles says, each word falling from his tongue like acid, "is that you're running around Beacon Hills infecting people and killing people and doing god knows what else."

The nogitsune smiles, a slow, cold smile. "And why is that a problem?"

Stiles shakes his head and turns away, deciding it's easier not to try to explain morality to a century-old Japanese trickster spirit.

"You'll come around," the nogitsune says, "and so will she. And isn't it better for her to be on our side, safe, than allying herself with a pack of – what is the pack made of, anyway? Call me old-fashioned, but I'd always assumed that werewolf packs were supposed to have actual werewolves in them, rather than hunters, banshees, humans…"

He trails off, accompanying the last word with a pointed look at Stiles, who shrinks back under his gaze. Their pack is definitely unorthodox, but that's what makes it _theirs_. And he may be human, but he knows he's just as much a part of the pack as the werewolves are – which is he why also knows that they won't stop looking until they find him. He just can't shake the feeling that if they keep looking, what they find is going to get them killed. Or rather, what finds _them_.

"Oh well," the nogitsune says with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter what they are. What matters is what we're going to do to them, once we get Lydia on our side."

Stiles knows better than to ask, but somehow he can't stop himself. His voice shakes, but the words come out clear. "What are you going to do to them?"

The nogitsune inclines his head toward him, like he's pleased that he'd asked. Then he fixes his gaze on the far wall – on something outside the far wall, something Stiles can't see – and says, in a voice that chills Stiles to the core, "We're going to kill them, Stiles. We're going to kill all of them."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Let me know your thoughts in the reviews, and I'll see you all next time!**


	11. Magic bullet

**Shoutout this chapter to Swiftiesbeliebe. Welcome to the story and thank you for all your reviews! And thank you to all my regulars, much love to you all. Okay. Not much to warn you about this chapter, really. Dark as always, etc. On another note, as I mentioned in 'prediction', I'm looking for someone to beta read a Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover two-shot, so if you're interested let me know. And if you want to take on a bigger challenge, then I'm still working on a multi-chapter Teen Wolf fic which will need a beta at some point. Other than that, not much to say. Enjoy this chapter, which is full of foreshadowing and explanations and Team 'Human' just generally being awesome. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

"… which will mean the pack is gone, and we can walk around town without being worried we'll trip over a couple of nuisance wolf pups," Stiles finishes.

Lydia is sitting beside him on the couch, their shoulders touching, their hearts in sync – she knows this because in the absence of the whispers she used to hear, she's become much more aware of her environment. It's not so much heightened senses as a heightened ability to pay attention to them. She wonders if this is what it's like to be a werewolf, this _connection_ to everything around her, this total understanding of where she is and what's around her.

"What about Kira?" Allison asks from her place on the armchair opposite them. While Stiles and Lydia are leaning back, Allison is perched on the arm of the chair, alert and ready to jump into action. She's still fiddling with the daggers, and Lydia can tell from the look in Stiles' eyes that it annoys him, but he doesn't say anything. It's strange that not-Stiles is so agitated by fiddling, whereas the real Stiles is always the one doing it. "She's not part of the pack yet, but she's definitely their ally. She could be dangerous."

Stiles tilts his head, watching Allison. His eyes drift from the daggers and up to her face, then back down again. She notices his gaze and steadies her hands, setting the daggers down on the chair. "She's not a threat," Stiles says. "Not yet, at least. She doesn't understand her powers well enough yet, and without Scott or the others, she won't become involved."

Allison dips her head, silently acknowledging Stiles' authority. Lydia watches curiously, still getting used to the idea of Allison, the fierce hunter who never waits for anyone, taking orders from a nogitsune. She wonders what Allison's father would think. "So what do we do in the meantime?" she asks.

Stiles gives Lydia a look out of the corner of his eyes, the kind that makes her heart flutter. Even though she knows it's not the real Stiles looking back at her, it feels like it is. And now that they have Allison on their side, there's nothing stopping her from giving herself over entirely to the nogitsune. He's the real power in town, and he's the best person to ally herself with. She wonders if she would have joined him if he'd chosen another host, but she doesn't let herself dwell on the issue for too long. It doesn't matter.

"What do you want to do?" Lydia asks, still surveying the hunter. The fly had worked, that much is clear, but Lydia is still half-expecting Allison to fight it, waiting for the real Allison - her essence, all the good intentions they'd trapped beneath layers of nogitsune magic – to fight her way back and take control. But Allison looks back at them serenely, no sign of internal struggle. Lydia's almost disappointed – where is Allison's fighting spirit? Her hunter code? Everything that makes Allison _her_? But she reminds herself that it's easier this way, and she lets the matter drop.

"You could pay a visit to your friend Isaac," Stiles suggests. "He's not my main concern, so I'm happy for you to… take care of him."

Allison's eyes light up. "You mean I could…?"

Stiles lifts one shoulder up in a shrug. "Torture him, screw him, kill him. Whatever you want."

Lydia looks away, suddenly unnerved by his words. She hadn't hesitated when they'd used magic on Isaac, or when they'd sent him after Allison. So why is she having doubts now? Isaac may not be a major threat to them, but he's still a member of the pack. He's still the enemy. Why should she care what happens to him?

"Tempting," Allison says, seriously considering it. Then she sighs, running a hand along a crease in her jeans. "But too easy. He's already down, so…"

"You'd miss out on the thrill of the chase," Lydia finishes, and Allison nods.

"You could pay another visit to Scott," Stiles says. Lydia glances at him, catching on. He's trying to get rid of Allison, but Lydia doesn't know why. She opens her mouth to ask, but he shakes his head slightly. She closes her mouth and lets the others talk. "I'm sure he'd like the company."

Allison's smile is back, darker than it was before the nogitsune's magic had hit her. Lydia wonders briefly if Allison's smile will ever be bright again, but then she realizes she doesn't care. Allison is safe, and that's all that matters. "Now that sounds like fun," she says. Then she narrows her eyes slightly, thinking. "He seems kind of… out of it. How did you guys get him here?"

"Lydia," Stiles says, squeezing her hand, "took him out with a baseball bat."

Allison turns to her friend, surprise and disbelief splashed across her face. "_You_ took out an alpha with a baseball bat?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Lydia says with good humor. "I'm not as helpless as I seem."

"I never said you were helpless," Allison says, "I just didn't know you were so dangerous."

"You'd be surprised," Stiles says, and Lydia ducks her head in mock humility. She finds herself remembering what Scott had done for her when she'd been infected, and she feels something – not quite guilt, but an awareness that that's what she should be feeling. She examines the feeling for a moment and then lets it pass.

"How hard did you hit him?" Allison asks with a laugh. "He seems really weak."

"Ah." Stiles leans forward, amusement glittering in his eyes. "Now that was easy. Just lace the ventilation system with a little bit of wolfsbane, and you've got yourself a homemade werewolf prison."

Allison raises her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Simple but effective," she says appreciatively. "My dad would find that really useful." A few beats of silence pass as the reminder sinks in – Allison is now, by default, her father's enemy. She shakes it off, clears her throat, and changes the subject. "I really think we should keep an eye on Kira. She may not look like much, but she has the potential to be pretty lethal."

Lydia expects Stiles to argue, but he doesn't. Instead he says, "If that's what you want to do, then go ahead. Tail her for a bit, find out her strengths and weaknesses. Come back when you're finished; we'll be here all night."

Allison nods, gathers her daggers, and gets to her feet. She takes a few steps toward the door before she turns back, meets Lydia's eyes, and says, "Thank you."

Lydia blinks, not sure what she's being thanked for. Then she realizes – Allison is thanking them for turning her. She must be aware that they could have just killed her, and is grateful they didn't. "You're welcome," Lydia says, and that's the last time they mention it.

When Lydia hears the front door swing closed, she turns to Stiles. "Why were you so desperate to get rid of her?"

Stiles doesn't try to deny it, nor does he seem taken aback by Lydia's direct manner. He pulls her to her feet and leads her to one of the spare rooms, one she's never been in before. It's empty aside from a round table covered in books, one of which is open to a page with intricate pictures of shadowy shapes and terrifying demons. She draws closer to Stiles, forgetting for a moment that he _is_ one of these demons.

He points to a page in the book, and she realizes it's one about the nogitsune. She takes a step back, surprised. In all the time she's been with him, he's made a deliberate effort not to remind her of what he is. But here he is, his image – the real him, the nogitsune in its purest form – spread across the page, accompanied by information the likes of which she knows the pack would do anything to get. Strengths, weaknesses, origin… how to kill them.

"What about it?" she asks, her fingers brushing the image, one of a dark shape that makes her shiver.

"What we did to Allison is only a temporary solution," he says. "The magic will only last for a certain period of time, and then…"

"And then what?" Lydia sits down on a chair near the table, one hand still on the book and the other resting on her knee. It's been a long time since she's felt this anxious, even though she doesn't know why.

"My magic is rather unstable," Stiles says cautiously, taking up the seat beside her. He clasps his hand over hers on top of the book and keeps talking. "It's meant to be used in short bursts, not for prolonged periods. If it stays in Allison's system for too long, it could kill her."

Lydia bites her lip, conflicted once again. "But if we take it out of her…"

"She'll go back to the pack," Stiles says. "And we can't have that happen, because she knows too much – she knows where we are, what we did to Isaac and Scott, and what we're going to do next."

"So we'd have to kill her," Lydia says uneasily as the pieces fall into place.

"Exactly." Stiles' voice is gentle, and Lydia is reminded of all the times the real Stiles had comforted her, had made her feel beautiful. These days she doesn't feel beautiful so much as powerful, and she thinks it's a fair compromise. "I don't want to have to kill her, or let my magic kill her. Which means we need a way to make sure she stays on our side."

Lydia's gaze slides to the book beneath their hands. She skims over it, and then she sees what she's looking for. "You want to let a nogitsune take over her?" she asks.

"It might be the best way to make sure she stays with us," Stiles says, still in that gentle, calming tone of voice. "With a nogitsune in her, she wouldn't be able to fight, even if she wanted to."

Lydia swallows, trying to sort out how she feels about this plan. It seems so sudden, so _final_. Allison is on their side now, but she hasn't done anything exactly _evil_ yet. If she was possessed by a nogitsune, that wouldn't last long. She wouldn't be able to go back; she would be with them forever. Slowly, Lydia nods. "If that's the only way to keep her safe, then let's do it."

Stiles quickly covers his shock with a silky smile. "Good. We'll let the fly run its course, and then before it starts to kill her, we get it out – and put a nogitsune in its place."

"Does it…" Lydia hesitates and then tries again. "Will it hurt?"

"The possession? No. It's quick and painless, and she'll feel a lot better afterward."

Lydia doesn't quite believe this, but even as she thinks it, her doubts melt away. This is the way it has to be. Stiles keeps smiling at her, encouraging, and it makes her feel more calm than she can remember ever feeling with the pack. Somehow she knows that everything is going to work out in the end. "Okay," she says, knowing that with that one word, she's decided her best friend's fate.

Stiles' smile widens, and then it slips. "There was one other thing…"

"What?"

He takes her hand in both of his, and she turns to face him, searching his face for an explanation for his sudden shift in mood. "I think it would be a good idea if you did it too," he says.

She stiffens. "You mean, take in a nogitsune?"

"It's not as terrifying as it sounds," Stiles says quickly. "You would still be you, just a lot more powerful."

There's a flaw in this logic, but Lydia can't find what it is. She wants to pull back, to go find Allison and just talk to her best friend, but it's far too late for that. Stiles' grip on her hands tightens, and once again her reservations fade. The idea of power is tantalizing, and if the nogitsune is the way to get it, then who is she to say no?

"I'll do it," she says, not giving herself time to back out.

Stiles pulls her to her feet and sweeps her up in a hug. "This is going to be great," he says. "Beacon Hills will never know what hit it."

Lydia smiles against his shoulder, wondering how she could ever have doubted him. Everything is going to work out; she doesn't just know it, she can _feel_ it. As long as she's with him, she'll be okay.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Yep. I can confirm that up until this point Lydia has not, in fact, been possessed. So what do you think? Will they manage to get to Allison? Will Lydia end up possessed?  
**

**Also, on a different note, do you guys like my ANs being interactive or am I wasting my time? Because I have a guessing game I want to introduce next chapter, but only if people are interested.**

**Anyway. Next chapter is a flashback, as usual, and it deals with one of my favorite friendship dynamics on the show (any guesses?). Hope to see you all there!**


	12. The tell

**Hi guys, and thanks as always for the reviews. There are a couple things I want to talk about in this AN, so here goes.**

**First, just a reminder that I am not guaranteeing a happy ending. I am, however, guaranteeing that there will be at least one character death during this story. So be prepared for that. And also, before that things will get very dark. I'm not trying to scare y'all off, I just want you to be ready.**

**Second, later on in this story one of my favorite (almost canon) couples will make an appearance. You all get one guess, and if you can correctly guess which couple this is, I'll give you a reward consisting of... well, you'll see.**

**Okay. I think that's it. Read, enjoy, review, and I'll update soon. For now I'm going to go write an angsty post-3B one-shot about Stiles, Lydia, and Scott, which I hope to have up in the next couple days. Annnd, tomorrow I should have the last chapter of 'prediction' up, so stay tuned.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

At the top of the list of people Scott would expect to find knocking at his door are his mother and Isaac. At the bottom is Lydia Martin, especially when she has a smear of blood on her cheek and a wild look in her eyes. He stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of her and completely forgetting to invite her in. It isn't until she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and wraps her arms around herself that he comes to his senses.

"C-come in," he says quickly stepping back to let her enter his room. He glances into the hall behind her, half-expecting the rest of the pack to follow, but it's just her. When he turns back to his room, letting the door swing closed behind him, Lydia is perched on the end of his bed, her arms folded and her eyes darting all over the place.

"Are you okay?" he asks, tentatively sitting beside her. Lydia's flighty, and he doesn't want to scare her off, especially since she seems so shaken up. He gives her a quick visual onceover, and realizes that she's not physically hurt. The blood on her cheek isn't hers, but that's not as comforting as it should be – and it raises a lot of questions he's not sure he can even ask, let alone hear the answer to. "Did Stiles – I mean, did the nogitsune -"

"No," she says quickly, her hair falling into her eyes as she shakes her head. She brushes it away and then looks up at Scott. "No," she says more calmly, "the nogitsune didn't find me."

"Then what happened?" Scott starts making a mental list of people he should call – Allison and Stiles for a start, he thinks, until he remembers about the nogitsune – because something tells him that he's not equipped to deal with this alone.

"I think I…" Lydia's words trail off, and Scott rests a hand on her knee. He feels a jolt of pain from her, but she quickly jerks away from him. "I'm sorry," she says, looking at his hand where it's now resting limply on the bed. "I'm just…"

Scott watches silently as Lydia gets to her feet and starts pacing around his room. He can't remember ever seeing her this agitated, and he still doesn't know why she's here or why there's blood on her face. But he senses that he won't get any information out of her if he pushes, so he just waits for her to open up.

After a couple of laps of the room she sits back down, farther away this time, both her breathing and heartbeat more rapid.

"Lydia," he says gently, waiting until his eyes flick up to him. "What happened? Whose blood is that?"

Her mouth forms the word _blood_, a question, but no sound comes out. Then she lifts a hand to her cheek and when she pulls it away her eyes widen at the thin stripe of red that lines her palm. She quickly wipes that off on her skirt, and Scott, halfway through asking if she's hurt, thinks better of it.

"Wait here," he says, and then disappears downstairs. His mother is in the kitchen, and she looks up from the salad she's making when he enters.

"Is Lydia okay?" she asks, frowning. "She looked a little shaken up. And… I hate to ask this, but was that _blood_ on her cheek?"

"Yeah," Scott says distractedly, grabbing a cloth and running it under the tap. "I don't know what happened, but she's okay."

Mrs McCall's frown deepens and she puts the tomato back on the chopping board, watching her son. "Is this something… supernatural?"

"I don't know." Scott fills a glass with water, slings the cloth over his wrist, and heads for the door. Normally he would stay and talk to his mom, but he doesn't want to leave Lydia alone for too long – at least not until he knows what happened to her.

His mother doesn't call him back, so he hurries up the stairs and back into his room. Lydia hasn't moved, but it looks like she'd been crying – some of the blood has washed away, and her eyes are rimmed with red. She looks up when he approaches, startled, but quickly relaxes when she sees it's just him. He wonders who else she was expecting, but he doesn't ask.

"Here," he says, crouching down in front of her. He gently dabs the cloth against her cheek, and although she winces when he does, she doesn't move away. When all the blood is gone he takes the cloth into the bathroom and rinses it out, and then comes back. Lydia is sipping the water, her hands shaking.

She finishes it and hands the glass back to him, and as she does he notices that she's talking. It's so low that he wouldn't be able to hear it without his wolf hearing, but he does hear it. She's saying _No, I can't_, over and over. Somehow that's more alarming than the fact that she'd shown up unannounced on his doorstep with blood on her face.

"Lydia," he says, hoping the sound of her name will ground her, "I can't help if I don't know what's going on. So can you tell me what happened?"

"Y-yeah," she says softly. "I think I… I…"

Her words give out again and Scott is tempted to wrap her in a hug, but he's not sure how she'd react to that. "Do you want me to call someone?" he asks instead. "Your mom, or Allison -"

Lydia pales. "No," she says quickly. "Don't call them, I just need…"

"You just need what?" Scott prompts when she doesn't continue.

"I need my alpha," she says in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper.

The words cause Scott to do a double-take. He's aware that he's an alpha now, that he's a _true_ alpha, and that his friends are his pack – he's just not used to people saying it. And Lydia's words aren't just a declaration, or even a cry for help. They're a reminder that as alpha, it's his job to take care of everyone. Lydia's vulnerable, she needs him, and she's trusting him to help. He can't let her down. "I'm here," he says, reaching for her hand again. "And I can help. Just tell me how."

She bites her lip and averts her gaze. "You're going to hate me when I tell you."

"I won't," Scott assures her quickly, although he's feeling more anxious with every second that slips by. He can't remember the last time Lydia had seemed so dejected – or the last time she'd come to him for help. "You can tell me anything."

She hesitates, using her free hand to fiddle with the pendant on her necklace. Then she says the last thing Scott had ever expected her to say. "I think I killed someone."

Scott takes a deep breath, making an effort not to betray his alarm. She's not joking, and he knows that right away. But she could be mistaken, or lying, or –

– or she could be telling the truth. And he knows instinctively that she is.

"Why do you think that?" he manages to ask.

Still not looking at him, Lydia says, "You know that guy, Carl, who's in our grade?"

"Yeah," Scott says, conjuring up an image of the guy, even though they've never spoken before. In all honesty Scott has hardly even noticed him before. "What about him?"

"He wanted to talk to me after school," Lydia says hesitantly. "So I followed him up near the gym, and then…"

Her heartbeat is so fast it pounds against Scott's skull and he has to work hard to shut it out. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she says, almost regretfully. "I don't even really remember it, but one minute we were talking, and the next…"

Scott watches in horror as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a bloodstained knife. She rests it on her palm and she stares at it, transfixed. Scott fights against the rising panic, knowing that he is definitely in no way equipped for this. Kanimas, druids, werewolves – he can deal with all of that. But_ murder_? This is definitely out of his league. But Lydia is counting on him.

"You…you stabbed him?" he asks, trying to process this information. He can't picture Lydia – with her perfectly manicured nails and her designer handbags and her gentle smile – deliberately hurting anyone, especially someone who hadn't hurt her first.

"Yeah," she says, tucking the knife back into her bag. But she keeps looking at the bag, like she's expecting the knife to move by itself and creep out from inside. With an obvious effort she shifts her gaze up to Scott's face. "I think I'm in trouble, Scott."

"It's okay," he says, although he's trying to figure out how anything is ever going to be remotely okay again. Stiles is possessed by a nogitsune, Lydia has confessed to murder – it's like his pack is being knocked down one by one, and it's only a matter of time before it's his turn. "We can sort this out, okay?"

She nods, but he can tell she doesn't believe it. "I'll be right back," she says, getting to her feet. "I need to go clean up."

Scott nods, leaning back and watching as she leaves the room. His first instinct is to call the Sheriff – this isn't a supernatural issue, as far as he can tell, which means that the police will have to get involved. But the Sheriff is still trying to find Stiles, and Scott doesn't want to worry him any more than he has to. He remembers that awful conversation they'd had, when Scott had been forced to tell him that his own son had been taken over by a dark spirit, and he's not keen to repeat the experience.

He could talk to his own mother, of course, but he doesn't want to put her in a position like that. It had almost been simpler back when the parents were out of the picture, when they didn't have a clue about the supernatural. It was easier to keep them out of it, at least, because now he's never sure how much to tell his mother. She knows that Stiles is possessed, and that he's missing, but he hasn't told her the real kicker – that all of his research indicates that in order to kill the nogitsune, they're going to have to kill Stiles too.

When Lydia comes back, Scott is no closer to a solution. It feels like everything is falling down around him, and he's the one who has to pick up the pieces – when really he would rather just stop everything from breaking in the first place. "Are you feeling any better?" he asks as Lydia sits down again – at the desk chair this time, not the bed.

While she searches for an answer, Scott searches her face. She'd washed the blood off and tied her hair up, and she looks a lot more composed. Her hands aren't shaking anymore, and she meets his gaze. As she does, he finds himself shrinking back. There's something strange about the way she's looking at him – cold, calculating. Nothing like the panicked girl who'd shown up at his door ten minutes ago.

"I'm okay," she says at last. "I just can't believe that happened. I _killed_ someone, Scott."

"But you don't really remember doing it," he reminds her, searching for anything to make this situation even slightly better. "Maybe something made you do it -"

"No," Lydia says firmly. "It was me, Scott. I killed him. And I feel… I feel horrible. Like the weight of what I've done is actually going to suffocate me."

Her heartbeat shifts as she says that, but Scott can't quite figure out what it is. Instead he switches into business mode, knowing they need to sort this out as soon as possible.

"Let's just go have a look," he says reasonably. "You can take me to… where it happened, and we can go from there. Okay?"

She nods, shakily, but there's still something in her eyes, something that's the exact opposite of how she looked when she'd shown up at his house. It's not until they're halfway to the car that he realizes what had been worrying him. When Lydia had said that she felt horrible about it, her heartbeat had spiked.

She was lying.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Thoughts, theories, comments, questions? Let me know in the reviews.**


	13. Formality

**Hey guys. Shoutouts to gossgal33, LoginOrSignUp, and Bri P for reviewing last chapter, and for taking part in the guessing game I mentioned. If anyone else wants to guess, go ahead, and if you're right I'll PM you with a reward. Before this chapter, I have a couple of announcements. Later this week I'm going to start publishing 'fugue' (I know, I know, I said I'd wait, but I'm an impatient little Hufflepuff sometimes), which is a multi-chapter angsty Stydia story - more information on my profile if you're interested. I'm really excited to share it with you all. I've also been working on some one- and two-shots, which I'll be releasing on a whim over the next couple of weeks; none of them will be happy, but you might like them anyway. For now, here's the next chapter of 'scarlet'. It should explain a couple things you guys have been wondering about, but will probably raise more questions. Anyway. Enough from me. Here you go.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

The next afternoon, Allison is sitting at the top of the stairs to the basement, absently flicking through a book she'd found in the spare room. Stiles had invited her into the room earlier and told her she was free to browse through it and pick out anything she liked. He and Lydia are out of the house now – or the hideout, really – to follow up on a few things, and she's meant to be waiting for them to get back. She's not sure she's supposed to be in the basement, but something has drawn her here. Scott is in the far corner, refusing to look at her, and she knows it's because he sees her now for who she is – not the girl she used to be or the daughter her father had wanted her to be, but someone colder, wiser, more willing to do what's necessary to survive.

The book is about the supernatural, of course, and she's found herself particularly perusing the sections on werewolves. It's more about the history of werewolves in popular culture than about the actual process of hunting them, which explains why she's never seen something like this lying around the house. What good is anthropology or psychology when they could just go out with a gun and get the bad guys themselves?

Only, she realizes as she turns the page, she's the bad guy now. Her father hasn't noticed she's missing, and this is both amusing and depressing. She wonders what he'll do when he does find her. He knows a bit about what's going on, and that Stiles is possessed, but he had probably never even considered that his daughter would join forces with the nogitsune. In truth, she had never considered it either.

"Allison," Scott says suddenly, making her jump.

She curls her fingers around the edge of the book, looking down at the werewolf – someone she'd once loved, someone she'd aligned herself with and fought beside. All she feels now is a dim kind of curiosity. "What?" she asks, expressionless, emotionless.

"You can't let them do this to you," Scott says, but his voice is far from convincing. "Stiles and Lydia – they're doing this to you. But you can fight back."

Allison lets out a snort of laughter. Poor Scott, always thinking the best of people, always looking for the happy ending. He's not going to get one this time – she'll make sure of that. "You think I _want_ to fight this?" she asks, setting the book aside and resting her hands on her knees. "I feel powerful, Scott. I feel strong. I feel like I can take on the world and win. Do you know what that's like?"

He mumbles something too low for her to hear, but when she asks him to speak up, he repeats it. "I do know what that feels like."

This gets Allison's attention. "Oh really?" she says, looking at him more closely. He's refusing to look at her, but she can still catch a glimpse of the fire in his eyes, despite the trembling in his hands and the way he can barely hold his head up. "When have you felt like that?"

Now he does look up at her, and for a moment it feels like she can't breathe. "When I was with you," he says simply. "I felt invincible. Like with you by my side I could do anything."

This hadn't been the answer Allison had been expecting, and it takes a few moments to sort through it. Then she laughs again. "I was your anchor, wasn't I?" she asks, getting to her feet and starting down the stairs – maybe she has time to play after all. "Isn't it funny, the way things turn out? I used to be the one who helped you feel free, and now I'm the one keeping you trapped."

Scott looks at her again, his eyes dark, even though she's half-expecting them to turn alpha red at any moment. "I'm not the only one who's trapped," he says, which brings Allison to a complete stop.

She plays this over in her mind, realizing that Scott still thinks she doesn't want this. It hadn't been her decision to join Stiles and Lydia, of course, but she wouldn't take it back – would she? Allison takes another step forward, reaching the floor, and then she stops. Her head swirls and then clears, and she blinks a few times. Something feels like it's shifting inside her, moving aside to let a rush of feelings take over. For one glorious, horrifying moment, she is totally and utterly herself.

"Oh god," she murmurs, as the sight of Scott sinks in. He looks so weak, so hurt, so desperate – and she's part of the reason for it.

He stiffens as she approaches, but then he seems to sense something different in her. She crouches down in front of him and their eyes meet, and in that moment she can tell that he forgives her for everything she's done. But this isn't as comforting as it should be, because she knows that he has no idea what she's going to do – what, until moments before, she had _wanted_ to do.

"Allison?" he asks, just to make sure it's her.

"Scott," she says, and that's enough of a confirmation. She doesn't move again, scared that a single movement will upset the balance and send her spinning back into darkness. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," he says, quick as always to forgive. He's leaning against the wall, his breathing labored and his face pale, but he manages to give her half a smile. Then his expression becomes serious again and he asks, "Are you okay?"

Allison almost laughs at the question. Scott is trapped in a basement and slowly being poisoned with wolfsbane by two of his closest friends, and he's asking her if she's all right? "I'm fine," she says quickly. "And I don't… I mean, it's not…"

"It's not you doing these things," he says, and somehow she's not surprised that he's known all along. Sometimes she swears he knows her better than she knows herself. "They tricked you, or forced you, or -"

"Infected me," she supplies, and Scott's eyes widen with the realization.

"They got you the same way they got Lydia," he says, and she nods. "I thought it only worked on supernatural beings."

"Normally it does," Allison says, sinking onto her knees and casting a nervous glance up at the door. She doesn't want Lydia and Stiles to show up, because they'd be able to tell right away that it was her, really her – and they'd probably kill her for it. "They found a loophole, and they used Isaac to…"

"Isaac," Scott echoes, alarm shooting through his voice like a siren. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Allison says honestly, feeling a pang of guilt at the memory of what she'd done to him – even before she was infected. "I haven't seen him since they… since I…" She cuts herself off, shakes her head, and moves on. "I'd know if they'd killed him, so he must be okay. Or at least alive."

Scott leans back slightly, but the news doesn't seem to cheer him much. His expression darkens as he contemplates something, and when he speaks again, his voice is low, like he doesn't want to believe what he's saying. "When Lydia attacked me," he says slowly, "she said that… she said she wasn't possessed. Is that true?"

Allison hesitates, but there's no point in lying. "It's true," she admits. "She's not possessed. But I think that Stiles – the nogitsune, I mean – is influencing her somehow. She seems more like herself when she's not with him. Almost like she'd be willing to go against him, if only we could -"

Her words break off as she becomes aware of a coldness creeping through her, and she knows what it means. The nogitsune is back. She shoots a panicked look at Scott and jumps to her feet, and that movement is what upsets the balance. She feels slightly dizzy from standing up so fast, but when that clears, she's not herself anymore. She's the new version of Allison Argent, the one who's aligned with the nogitsune – not the girl who'd just confessed all that to Scott. She turns to him, and he can tell that she's changed.

"Duty calls," she says cheerfully, heading back to the stairs. She picks up the book on the way, and at the door, she hears Scott's voice.

"You can fight this," he says again. "You may feel strong now, but it's just an illusion. Your strength is with the pack, and if you come back to us, we can win this."

She doesn't respond, just darts through the door and meets Lydia and Stiles in the hall. "Any problems?" she asks, trying to distract them from how agitated she is.

"None at all," Lydia says. Her gaze slides past Allison, toward the basement. "Are we all good here?"

"Nothing to report," Allison replies.

The looks Stiles gives her is searching, like he knows she's holding something back, but he doesn't mention it. "Are you ready for the next part of the plan?" he asks instead. "Mrs McCall is waiting."

"Ready," Allison confirms, although part of her isn't sure she is. Still, she goes along with it, and in a few minutes she's pulling up outside the McCalls' house. The others had assured her that Isaac is out of the picture – although what that means, she doesn't quite know – which means that she can carry out her part of the plan without interruption.

She gets to the doorstep and then stops, taking a few deep breaths and trying to play her part. When Mrs McCall answers the door, Allison is standing there, her shoulders shaking and tears welling in her eyes. For good measure there are splashes of blood across both her hands, and her breathing is coming in shallow sobs.

"Allison!" Mrs McCall exclaims, stepping back at once to let her in.

Focusing on keeping up her performance, Allison steps around her and heads inside. Mrs McCall ushers her into the kitchen and quickly sets her up with a cup of tea, which Allison sips as she makes a show of trying to get her breath back.

"Are you okay?" Mrs McCall asks, sitting down across from her. When Allison nods, the older woman says tentatively, "You haven't heard from Scott, have you? He didn't come home last night."

Allison stares into the liquid in her cup, counting to ten before she responds. "That's why I'm here," she says, doing her best to sound broken. That's not too hard – she just taps into the old Allison, the one who'd been close enough to people that it would hurt when she lost them.

Mrs McCall stiffens, but the sympathy doesn't fade from her eyes. "What do you mean? Did something happen?"

Allison finishes the tea and then pushes the cup away, her hands trembling and tears spilling onto her cheeks. Stiles and Lydia would be proud of her performance. "There was a fight," she says, still in the same shattered voice. "The werewolves were all there, and I tried to stop it, but…"

Silence hangs over them for a moment, and then Mrs McCall bites her lip and asks, "Is Scott okay?"

Allison shakes her head, slowly, and watches as Mrs McCall crumples before her. "I'm sorry," she says as Scott's mom dissolves before her eyes, every tightly controlled muscle relaxing, every semblance of dignity forgotten as she's overwhelmed by grief, pre-empting bad news. "I tried to get them out of there, but one of the wolves went rogue, and -"

"Rogue?" Mrs McCall repeats, latching onto the one word she understands so that she doesn't have to focus on the implications. "You mean one of Scott's pack?"

Allison dips her head and lowers her eyes, fixing them on the table in front of her. "They got into it, and we couldn't stop it. He… he killed Scott."

For a moment Allison thinks that Mrs McCall is going to let her grief take her over until she's nothing but an empty shell, but instead she goes in the other direction – not despair but a desire for revenge. "Who was it?" she asks, her voice hard.

Allison glances up at her, surprised by how quickly the other woman has gone from hearing her son is dead to wanting his murderer to pay. She couldn't have wished for a better reaction. "You have to promise me you won't go after him," Allison says, hoping for just the opposite. "If I tell you, you have to promise…"

"I'm not promising anything." Mrs McCall's voice is still hard, almost a growl, and Allison wonders what she'll do when she inevitably finds out that this isn't true – although by that stage Scott may well actually be dead. "My son is dead, and I want to know who killed him. I think, after all I've been through – and after all I've seen you guys go through – I deserve that much at least."

Allison meets Mrs McCall's eyes, silently seeming to agree with her logic. Then, feigning reluctance, she lets the lie slide from her tongue. "Isaac. Isaac killed Scott."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Sorry for the depressing chapter, and the Scallison feels, and... well, sorry for the entire story. See you all next chapter?**


	14. Lunatic

**So, is interest in this story dwindling or are you all just lurking? Regardless, thanks to my regulars for your continued support and much-appreciated reviews. I worked really hard on this story and it's nice to know it didn't go to waste. Anyway. Quick announcement: since this is pre-written, I've decided to implement an update schedule. Until further notice, I'll be updating this story on Mondays, 'fugue' on Tuesdays, and a surprise on Fridays (chapter of something else, one-shot, whatever I feel like). So I'm open to suggestions with that, since it might depend on demand/interest/my mood at the time. As always, leave me a review and I'll love you forever, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

"Are you sure?" Scott asks for the third time.

Lydia spins in a wide circle, deliberately forcing herself to look confused. It's not surprising that the body is gone – she knows by now that she's infected, that the nogitsune got to her, and she's past the point of caring. She knows he would have cleaned up her mess in order to sow more discord in the pack. Not that they need it, of course. The nogitsune issue is already splitting them apart, and it hardly needs any more prompting. But that's the way the nogitsune works – he's all about the follow through.

"I'm sure," Lydia says, rocking back and forth on her heels as she looks at the place where Carl's body had been only an hour before. The incident itself is clear in her mind, but what followed is more hazy. She remembers stumbling backward, her hand tightening around the knife. She remembers looking at Carl – at the body – with mild, detached curiosity. She remembers Lydia, the old Lydia, fighting her way to the surface, but it had been no place for her.

After she'd made sure Carl was really dead, she'd left. She hadn't come across anyone, hadn't been forced to come up with any lies or excuses. She had simply slipped away, back to her car, feeling strangely calm – until she started driving. That was when everything had caught up with her, giving the old Lydia control again. She'd driven to Scott's house, to the one person who could help her, and she'd tried to tell him everything. The panic had been almost overwhelming, and coupled with the guilt it had almost been enough to crush her.

But when she washed the blood from her face and came back to Scott's room, she was herself again – the new version of herself, at least. The one who could stab a classmate and not bat an eye; the one who didn't hear voices in her head so much as gentle suggestions; the one who knew that everything was going to be okay.

Scott leans against the building, inhaling deeply. He frowns. "I can only smell a trace of blood," he says, looking at Lydia.

She's still holding the knife, she realizes, her hand wrapped around it in her pocket. She tries her best to stay still, not wanting to remind Scott of that fact. Of course there would be minimal evidence left behind, and definitely not enough for Scott to be able to track where the body had gone. She wonders briefly where it did go, and then realizes that she doesn't want to know. "I don't know what to tell you," she says, walking over to him, being sure to make her steps shaky and her voice equally unsteady. "He was here when I left. The body, I mean. And I…"

Scott looks up at her, sees her breaking in front of him, and softens immediately. Lydia is always amazed at the fine line between wolf and boy, a line which Scott is more and more easily able to cross. He's not the alpha in this moment – he's just her friend. Which is, incidentally, exactly what the old Lydia would need. But what this Lydia needs is to finish her job.

"It's okay," Scott says, coming back over to her. "We'll figure this out."

The smile he gives her is so reassuring that for a moment Lydia is dazzled, forgetting herself. She feels safe with him, but she knows she shouldn't. If he knew she was infected, he would do whatever he had to in order to save her – but the problem is that this isn't something to be saved from. This is something to live with, something to enjoy. This is something she can't – won't – let Scott take away from her.

He turns away, looking again at the crime scene, and Lydia pulls the knife out. Slowly, gently, so as not to startle him, she steps forward, both hands wrapped around the handle of the knife, the point facing Scott's back. She knows exactly where to hit for maximum efficiency, but she's torn between wanting to give him a quick death and wanting to inflict as much pain as possible. She makes a compromise, aims the knife –

\- and drops it as someone calls out her name from behind her. She whirls around to see Allison approaching, her bow slung over one shoulder and a worried look on her face. Scott straightens up, glances at the knife on the ground, and then up at Lydia. She refuses to look at him, suddenly terrified she's going to give herself away.

"Hey," Allison says as she reaches them, shifting the bow higher up on her shoulder and letting her eyes sweep over the scene. In answer to Lydia's unspoken question she explains, "Scott called me. He said I might be able to help. So what's going on?"

The alpha and the banshee share a look. Before either of them can speak, Allison notices the knife. She bends down and picks it up, testing the point of the blade against the tip of her finger, tapping gently against the handle. She can tell that it's not one of hers, not a knife used for hunting or fighting.

"Where did this come from?" she asks, suspicion coloring her voice.

Scott takes the knife from her, and, after a brief hesitation, hands it back to Lydia. She takes it, realizing that he's just as lost as she is – and that part of him doesn't believe that she really did murder somebody. "There was an… incident," she says delicately when Scott doesn't make any move to speak. "I think I… I killed someone."

She tunes out Allison's exclamations of surprise and shock, doing her best to seem suitably shocked herself. She keeps up the act while Scott and Allison survey the scene and, coming up with nothing to prove that anyone was murdered here, let alone that Lydia did it, suggest that they call it a day. She quickly agrees, knowing there's nothing to be found here.

Lydia's hoping that Allison will leave so that she can get on with her job, but the other girl stays where she is, talking to Scott about a potential lead on the nogitsune. Finally they part, and then Scott invites them both over to dinner the next night. Without really understanding why, Lydia agrees to that as well. She knows why Scott is doing it – the pack's already a member down, and he wants to keep everyone else as close together as possible. She doesn't argue when Scott offers to drive her home, and even thanks him politely at the door. But as soon as she's alone, she starts thinking. Planning. The nogitsune is behind this; she knows that. But she's still a little unclear about her part in it all, about what he wants her to do. The only way to find out is to ask him, but she can't think of a way to find it.

By the time she's sat through dinner with her mother – acting like the old Lydia so she wouldn't arouse suspicion – she's so tired that she can't dedicate any time to sorting out this problem. Strangely, she's not bothered by this. She has the feeling that she has all the time in the world, which is such a change from the way she usually feels – like it's only a matter of time before the world falls down on them. It's quiet in her head, and even though she knows she's not herself, she feels like she is. She feels more like herself than she has in months.

The next day, she works on trying to get Scott alone. If she can take out the alpha, the rest of the pack will quickly follow. Allison is keeping an eye on her, and is either resistant or oblivious to the fact that Lydia is trying her best to lose her. Not that it matters anyway, because Scott is never alone – Isaac is usually with him, and when he's not, the twins take over. She even thinks she sees Derek lurking around the school property at lunch, although he doesn't approach them.

A couple of times, Allison and Scott try to talk to Lydia about what happened yesterday. She repeats her story: that something had come over her, that she'd killed Carl, that she's worried for her sanity. At the very least this new mystery will keep them busy enough for her to find a way to contact the nogitsune – or for him to contact her. Once or twice throughout the day she thinks she catches a glimpse of him, around the corner or across the lacrosse field, but she can't be sure.

After school, Allison insists on going shopping with her and then driving her to Scott's house. On the way to Scott's, with the backseat full of new dresses and jewelry, Lydia remembers the first time this new voice had come to her, the night it had told her to kill Allison. She realizes, idly, that this time she would probably comply. Whatever it is has completely taken over her, and she doesn't mind at all. It's quiet in her head and calm in her heart, and all it's taken is one measly murder. What's that in the grand scale of things?

When they arrive at Scott's, Mrs McCall lets them in, a warm smile on her face. Lydia greets her in the same manner, while in her mind she runs through the pros and cons of taking out the entire household in one go. It would be simple enough to slip something into the food, and it would essentially eliminate the pack. Mrs McCall is here, and Isaac and Scott, since they all live here; but Allison's here too, and Kira, and Lydia herself. Without all of them, the McCall pack would be no more.

But even as she thinks it, she rejects that idea. She knows instinctively that this isn't what the nogitsune wants – death isn't the same as chaos. So she takes her place at the table beside Allison and Scott, and she plays nice.

"So Lydia," Scott says, handing around a bowl of mashed potatoes, "my mom was telling me about this college program you might be interested in over the summer. What was it again?"

Mrs McCall looks slightly surprised at being addressed, but she quickly fills Lydia in on the summer program at one of the nearby colleges, one that specializes in gifted science students. Lydia nods, acting interested, but she knows she's not going to it. Conversation progresses, and the group talks about school, work, and everything in between. Lydia contributes little; instead she rests the knife on her lap, turning it over and sneaking peeks every now and then to see it catch the light. It's strangely comforting, and she keeps picturing using it against Scott. Getting the alpha out of the way – now _that_ would be chaos.

As dinner continues, Lydia notices that a lot of attention seems to be focused on her. She catches Allison and Scott looking at her more often than they even look at each other, and even Isaac and Kira keep darting glances her way. Every now and then they'll try to get her involved in the conversation, but she focuses on filling her eyes with as much desolation as she can, so that no one will push the issue. They'll all attribute it to worry over Stiles – who's still missing, and it seems the pack's search has started to slow down – and leave her alone.

After they've all finished dinner Mrs McCall hands out slices of chocolate cake – comfort food, since they're all feeling the absence of a certain whiskey-eyed boy. The cake tastes slightly sour, and Lydia can only take a couple of bites before she has to push it away. While the others are still eating, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to compose herself – the old Lydia is threatening to fight her way back. But she never makes it that far.

Halfway down the hall she hears someone come up behind her, and before she even has time to turn around someone grabs her arm, twists it just enough to distract her, and then presses a damp cloth against her mouth. She breathes in the acrid smell for a few seconds, and that's all it takes. Then she slumps against the person's arms, and barely hears them murmur, "I'm sorry about this," before she slips away.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Go on, hit me with your theories. What just happened? What's going to happen next? I love hearing from you guys, and if I get an enthusiastic enough response to this chapter I could be persuaded to update again this week. So let me know if you're still out there, and I'll see y'all soon.**


	15. Pack mentality

**Happy Friday, all. I got a good response last chapter so I figured I may as well update this story again. Shoutouts to my regulars: LoginOrSignUp, Aaya123Woods, and gossgal33. You guys are amazing. And welcome new readers as well! Great to see CMR, a carryover from my PLL craze (thank your friend for getting you into TW, 'kay?). And hello to littlestrangesoul, another Stydia shipper whose work you should all definitely check out.  
**

**Now, to avoid any disappointment next chapter, I'm going to warn you all that things may not be what you're expecting. Re-read the last chapter, since there are a couple of very subtle hints you may have missed. Actually. Let's make this interesting. The other day I wrote a post-3B one-shot revolving around the Stiles/Lydia/Scott friendship. I was going to publish it next Friday, but if anyone can correctly guess what happened last chapter (or, similarly, what will happen next chapter), I'll publish it a lot sooner. So leave your guesses in the reviews, and I hope to see you soon.**

**Annnd, here's the next chapter, which will be a barrel of laughs, because I totally don't enjoy putting the characters through hell. Haha.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

When Allison returns, Stiles and Lydia greet her at the door. Stiles watches her carefully, half-convinced that she will have betrayed them. He'd heard her earlier, in the basement with Scott, and it worries him that the old Allison might be trying to take control. He makes a note to keep a careful eye on her for the next day, and to watch for any indication that the old Allison might be about to win – and then it will be time to move on with the next stage of the plan. Lydia had been understandably reluctant when he'd brought up the idea of summoning more nogitsunes, but it hadn't taken too much magical manipulation to convince Lydia that it was in fact a good idea.

He's watching her now too, as she and Allison head toward the living room. Lydia is dressed in her usual ridiculous outfit – short dress, heeled boots, jewelry that seems to shine even in the dim light inside the hideout. But the colors are all more subdued than she would usually wear; there are no floral prints or cute animals or splashes of color. It's all black and white and gray, the way it should be. Allison looks much the same as well, dressed in simple jeans with a loose black shirt thrown over the top. This is no place for color, for cheerfulness, for anything that might remind the girls of the kind of life they always thought they were going to have.

While Allison and Lydia talk in the living room, Stiles retires to the kitchen. It only takes half a minute to settle down and slip back into the mind room. The real Stiles is there, still at the back of the room, but he's standing up, meeting his tormentor's eye.

"Let them go," the real Stiles says firmly. His voice is surprisingly steady given that his legs are shaking and he looks like he could collapse at any moment.

After a few beats have passed, n-Stiles steps forward. "Why would I want to do that?" he asks, watching as the first hints of defeat settle on Stiles: his shoulders start to slump, his knees sag, his eyes go dark. But he doesn't give up.

"I'm not letting you hurt any more of my friends," Stiles says, leaning against the wall for support.

"Bold declaration for somebody who's trapped in his own mind," n-Stiles says, amusement curling around his words.

The real Stiles balks. "I'm not trapped in my mind. I'm trapped in _yours_."

"Are you?" n-Stiles counters. "Did you ever wonder why I chose you, Stiles? Why, out of all of the people I could have possibly chosen to possess, it was you?"

The look on his face makes it clear that no, Stiles has not thought of this. And the way he grits his teeth and looks away makes it clear that he doesn't want to know.

"It's because you're weak," n-Stiles says. "You were the only one vulnerable enough for me to target. Your friends would have fought me off, but you, Stiles… you can't. You've never been strong, and you never will be."

He watches as the real Stiles lets the words wrap around his heart, pulling him to the floor, trapping him even deeper in his own mind. Stiles' resolve is fading, his hope disappearing like a leaf in the wind, until there's nothing left but a broken boy.

"What are you to the pack, anyway?" n-Stiles goes on, crossing the space between them so that he stands above the real Stiles. "You're not a werewolf. You're not a hunter. Nor a banshee, kitsune, or any other kind of supernatural being. What makes you think you would ever belong with them? You were never going to be able to keep up. You're only human, and that means you're weaker than they are. Nobody says it, but they all think it."

"That's not true," Stiles says, not looking up.

"No?" n-Stiles prompts. "You don't think Scott, the true alpha of Beacon Hills, resents having a human best friend? Someone he's obligated to protect, because he can't protect himself?"

"It's not like that," Stiles says, but it's a weak protest.

"And you don't think Allison believes she's better than you?" n-Stiles goes on. "It's her duty to protect the weak, which is the only reason she's 'friends' with you. She pities you, Stiles. She knows you wouldn't stand a chance on your own, and so she stays to protect you."

"She _is_ my friend," Stiles says, but the nogitsune can see him losing his spirit already. "I don't need protection. I'm part of the pack."

n-Stiles ignores this, waiting for the perfect time to throw one last barb at him. "And Lydia," he says slowly, savoring every moment, "do you really think she would ever fall for someone as plain and ordinary as you? You are _nothing_ to her, Stiles. You did everything you could to save her, and it still won't be enough."

"Get out," snaps the broken boy before him, and the nogitsune knows that he's won.

"Always a pleasure," he says mockingly, and then he retreats, leaving the shell of a boy behind. When he comes back into his body – he thinks of it as his body, even though he knows that technically that isn't quite true – he sees Allison and Lydia approaching. "Girls," he says graciously, getting to his feet. "How can I help?"

"I want to know what happened to Isaac," Allison announces.

This isn't surprising – in fact, Stiles is only surprised that it took her this long to ask. He's aware of the history between the pair, of the hate-turned-love relationship, and he had assumed it was only a matter of time before that part of the old Allison came creeping back. "Nothing happened to him," Stiles says. "We only needed him to get you on our side."

Allison narrows her eyes. "When I went to talk to Mrs McCall, he wasn't there."

"Oh." Stiles shrugs. "Well, we had to move him to a more… convenient location."

"Which is where?" she asks, folding her arms. He notices that she's not fiddling anymore – she's not carrying any daggers, any arrowheads. She seems calm, composed, almost like the old Allison – full of purpose and confidence.

"Lydia," Stiles says, turning to her. If he's not much mistaken, the redhead jumps slightly when he addresses her, but she hides it quickly behind a smile. "How about you take Allison out to where we left Isaac? If you're lucky he might be waking up around now."

Lydia nods, seeming pleased by the suggestion. "What will you be doing?"

"I think," Stiles says, with a smile that he shoots straight at both of them, "it might be time to pay a little visit to our favorite ex-alpha."

"Good luck," Allison says, and adds something that sounds like _you'll need it._

But Stiles isn't worried. If he can take down the alpha of Beacon Hills, he has nothing to fear from someone like Derek. "We'll meet back here when we're done," he says. "Once Derek and the twins are out of the way, we can focus on the rest of them."

Allison nods, reaching for the bow that's leaning against the wall. Lydia uses the intervening time to kiss Stiles, who doesn't object in the slightest; in fact he welcomes the affection, because he'd been worried that he was losing Lydia. She's stronger than he gave her credit for, and she's becoming resistant to his subtle magic. He might have to try something more direct, if she doesn't take in a nogitsune of her own soon. He hopes it won't come to that, because he quite likes this Lydia – she's quieter than she used to be, exuding confidence and intelligence like always, but there's also a fire that the old Lydia was missing. It looks, he muses as he watches the two girls depart, a little like hellfire.

Stiles knows that he should go straight to Derek after this, because the next part of their plan is to take him out, but he can't resist a trip down to the basement. Scott jerks his head up when he enters, and Stiles can see the panic and disappointment that flashes through the other boy's eyes when he sees that it isn't Allison.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles says amiably, wandering over to him.

The alpha stiffens and tries to back away, but he's already against the wall. The wolfsbane in the ventilation system is definitely taking effect, because Scott looks, for lack of a better word, terrible. He's pale, he's trembling, and Stiles doubts he could even change if he wanted to. He's not an expert on wolfsbane poisonings, but he thinks there might be a stage later on when Scott will have to change, and he won't be able to become human again. The lines between human and wolf are blurred anyway, so it's about time he erases them completely.

"You're not going to get away with this," Scott says, his voice almost like a growl.

Stiles surveys him, noting that Scott doesn't beg. The real Stiles does beg, but then again he's been with the nogitsune for a lot longer. Still, it had almost been too easy to wear him down. But Scott, now there's a challenge. Breaking an alpha would definitely be one for the books, but he's not sure he has the strength – yet.

"My pack," Scott says, choking out the words like they cause him physical pain, "my pack is going to find me."

"What pack?" Stiles asks with a hint of laughter. "Wake up, Scott. You don't _have_ a pack anymore. You lost Stiles long ago, and Allison and Lydia are with me. We took care of Isaac, and I'm about to go after Derek and the twins. Who's left?"

Scott opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again. He can tell when he's beaten.

"Precisely." Stiles crouches down in front of Scott, and he thinks he can feel a hint of the real Stiles in the back of his mind – begging, as always, for him to _please just leave the others alone. _It amuses him that Stiles still seems to think that's an option. "No one's coming for you, Scott. And you're in no state to fight your way out. Where does that leave you?"

Without waiting for a reply, Stiles stands up again and walks out of the room. As he starts up the stairs he thinks he can hear a faint whimper, like Scott has finally accepted the reality of his situation, but he doesn't turn back. He has a job to do. It doesn't take long to reach Derek's loft, and even less to infect him. Stiles doesn't even have to go inside; he just waits in the street, watching as the fly slips through a crack in the window. There's a howl from up above, and less than a minute later Derek comes charging down. Stiles watches him disappear round the corner before he starts driving again, this time toward the twins' house. He needs to give them a fighting chance, after all.

To his delight, the twins are both at home, even in the same room. He watches through the window, sees the exact moment they each get taken over, and with the same perfect timing that seems to have characterized his day, Derek shows up not long after. Stiles slips into the shadows to watch, as the twins tumble out the door and throw themselves at the former alpha, who shrugs one off and slams the other into the nearest tree. Stiles watches long enough to see both twins get to their feet and lunge at him again before he turns to go. The pack that Scott is so fiercely trying to defend is crumbling down around him, and soon there'll be nothing of it left.

And not long after that, there'll be nothing of the real Stiles left either.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review, and I'll see you next time! Next chapter you will definitely get some answers. Promise.**


	16. Shape shifted

**Let's get this out of the way first: I tried to hint it in my last AN, and to save any disappointment, I have to confirm that... this is not, in fact, a Stydia chapter. I apologize, and in all honesty I didn't even intend to mislead you; sometimes I just forget people aren't in my head, y'know? Anyway, this is actually one of my favorite chapters, so I hope you enjoy it too (and rest assured, there will be plenty of Stydia feels to come). Thank you as always for the reviews, and I hope this chapter answers a few of your questions. Here we go...**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

"Scott, I don't like this."

It's not the mention of his name that gets the young alpha's attention – it's the way Allison says it. The way her voice catches on the words, stumbles over them; the way that the hunter can't stop her voice from shaking. She's leaning against the wall, and she can feel her heart beating at least twice as fast as normal. Her gaze is fixed on Scott, who's on the other side of the room with Deaton.

"I don't like it either," Scott says, his voice firm but his eyes sympathetic, "but we have to do it."

"Remind me again why you think this -" Isaac says from his place near the counter, gesturing to the sight which they're all trying so desperately not to look at "- is a good idea?"

"I didn't say it was a good idea," Deaton qualifies, looking up from the jars of herbs he's sorting through. "I said it was the only thing I can think of."

The three of them keep talking like this for a few minutes, but Allison's attention drifts. She plays with an arrow, turning it over in her hands and watching the light glint off it, remembering how she feels when she's out there in the woods with nothing but her bow and arrows. Calm. Powerful. Tranquil. The exact opposite of what she's feeling now.

As if drawn by a magnet, her gaze slides sideways, landing on the chair in front of her. Lydia is slumped in it – tied to it – and Allison hates that it came to this. But there was no other choice. When they noticed that Lydia wasn't acting like herself, they'd talked to Deaton. He was the one who'd raised the possibility of her being, as he put it, 'magically affected'. It wasn't a possession, and he made that very clear. It was more like a lowering of inhibitions, a twisting of the moral compass until it pointed toward strife and pain. He explained that it was probably the nogitsune's doing, a way to infiltrate the pack – and that if they didn't do something soon, it could kill Lydia.

So they'd done something. Allison remembers going with Scott to fill his mom in on what was happening. Dinner with the pack, just a nice night with friends – or at least that's what they wanted Lydia to think. But the dessert had been laced with a subtle spell, a combination of herbs that would react with any nogitsune magic and make it uncomfortable for the person who was affected. They'd all watched carefully, waiting for a reaction. Allison had noticed Scott watching the others too, just in case there was someone or something they'd missed, but nobody else had trouble. But Lydia did.

It was just a moment, just a flash of something through her eyes, but it was enough. Scott later told Allison that he could sense Lydia's fear – the fear that she had been found out. So they'd followed her down the hall and done what they had to do.

And that's how Allison ended up at the animal clinic with a couple of werewolves, a druid, and with her best friend tied to a chair. It's been almost half an hour but Lydia hasn't woken up yet. She should be awake any time now; Allison would know – she's the one who'd drugged her. Before they can act they need to know for sure that Lydia's affected by the nogitsune's magic. If she's not, doing the spell could kill her. But if she is, not doing it will be just as fatal.

"Allison," Scott says, jerking her attention back to him. "Are you -"

He doesn't finish his sentence, because at that moment Lydia's eyes flutter open. Allison freezes, clenching her hand around the arrow – not because she might need it as a weapon, but because she needs to remind herself to stay in control. They might have been mistaken; Lydia could be okay. But if she's not, this could be their one chance to save her. They might be able to do for her what they hadn't been able to do for Stiles.

Lydia rolls her shoulders, looks down at the ropes holding her to the chair, and laughs. It's a harsh sound, cold like rainwater down Allison's back, and the hunter shivers. "You really think this is going to be enough to hold me?" Lydia asks scathingly.

Allison's heart slithers through her body and falls to the floor._ It's not Lydia. She's not herself. _It's not hard to believe, not when she can see the coldness in her friend's eyes. Lydia turns to Allison with half a smile, malice mixed with amusement, familiarity with a detached kind of curiosity.

Instinctively, Isaac comes to stand beside Allison. He's supportive, not protective, which Allison is grateful for; she may not be a werewolf, but she belongs with the pack. She's as strong as any of them, and she reminds herself of this as she stares at her best friend. In that moment, Allison feels weak – because she couldn't save her friend, because she can't face her now… and because, although she will never tell a soul, she wishes for one wild moment that it was her. Not that she wants to kill anyone – but she wants to know that the pack would care about her this much, would do anything to save her.

Deaton steps back and Scott crosses over to stand beside his friend. Allison and Isaac wait for the alpha to speak first, and when he does, his voice is tinged with pain. "Lydia," he says, simply, heartfelt, heartbreaking, "is this actually you?"

Her smile tilts up further, amusement softening her features even as her eyes sharpen with suspicion. "Of course it's me, Scott," she says smoothly. "Who else would it be?"

Scott moves to stand in front of her, to look at her, to see if it's really her. It's not, and he knows it, and Allison is suddenly grateful that she's not the one in charge. "What happened to you?" Scott asks.

Lydia keeps smiling, tranquil as a still pool. Allison doesn't look at her because she's scared she might see something familiar in her eyes – some reflection of herself, some hint of darkness that she doesn't want to face. "I found myself," Lydia says. "And I freed myself. From all your stupid mortal rules and your lectures about consequences and your fear of retribution."

This isn't the answer that any of them are expecting, so nobody speaks right away. Isaac tugs at his scarf, clearly uncomfortable, and then he says, "Did the nogitsune find you? Is that how it happened?"

Lydia turns her gaze to the beta werewolf, and then tilts her head. She doesn't answer, letting his questions hang there for a moment before changing the subject entirely. "You're a strange one, Isaac," she says, causing the boy in question to narrow his eyes. "You know you don't belong in the pack, but you stick around anyway. Because you have nowhere else to go, right? Poor thing. It must be terribly lonely."

Allison starts to reassure him, to tell him that whatever's controlling Lydia is making her say these things and that they're not true in the least, but he gives her a look that lets her know that he's already aware of this. What he doesn't know is that he gives something else away too, in that one simple look. It's doubt – just a tiny splash of it, but it's there. He knows it's not Lydia saying these things, but it seems like he's starting to believe them.

Scott intervenes before Lydia can keep talking. "He belongs with us," Scott says. "And so do you."

"Au contraire," Lydia says, her gaze sweeping over Scott, Allison, and Isaac. "_You_ belong with _us_."

"Us?" Isaac echoes, suddenly wary. He looks quickly around the room, even doing a full spin so that he can see into the darkest corners, but there's no one else here. "What does she mean, _us_?" he mutters to Scott.

The alpha shrugs, and then turns back to Lydia. "This was the nogitsune, wasn't it? How did he get to you?"

"He didn't get to me." Lydia's words are swift but unhurried; she doesn't seem concerned about her predicament, and is making no moves to hide her intentions. It makes Allison's skin crawl, but she just leans against Isaac – hardly touching, but still linked – and tries to keep her head. "He created me."

"How?" Allison cuts in, and tries not to flinch when Lydia turns her sharp gaze on her. "How did he create you?"

When Lydia doesn't answer, Deaton steps in. "I believe the nogitsune is capable of certain… conjurations," he says. "I'm not sure of the form they take, but it would probably be something small and unobtrusive – something that could get to Lydia without her realizing it."

"And that's what's causing her to act this way," Allison finishes. She wonders if the others can see her secret in her eyes – the fact that she had traitorously thought that Lydia might not have been infected at all, that she might have simply been changing. Allison hates that she's the kind of person to doubt her friends like this, but she knows why she does it. She isn't ready to face the darkness in herself, so she focuses on the potential darkness in others.

"Most likely," Deaton says. "Since I think it's quite clear that Lydia is in fact affected, might I suggest that we get started?"

"Right." Scott is staring at Lydia with equal parts fascination and pain. Allison knows him well enough to know that he'll be blaming himself for this, like he does for what happened to Stiles. It's his pack, and he wants to be able to protect them. But Allison knows that he can't protect all of them, and he might not be able to save them all either. She just doesn't know how to tell him that. "So how is this going to work?"

"It's not going to be pretty," Deaton warns. The others make no move to excuse themselves or back out, so he continues. "Whatever the nogitsune used to infect her is most likely inside her – she might have swallowed it, for example. Which means that we need to make sure this can reach her."

He holds up a vial with a dark violet liquid swishing inside it. Allison feels sick.

"So we have to get her to swallow it," Scott says, still looking at Lydia. The banshee stiffens, perhaps realizing for the first time that she might actually be in danger.

"Yes." Deaton walks over to them, still holding the vial. "But she will most likely be… resistant."

"So what do we do?" Scott asks, turning to face the emissary for the first time.

Deaton gives him something that's a cross between an apologetic grimace and a reassuring smile. "You're going to have to hold her."

Scott balks, but doesn't shy away. After only a moment he skirts around Lydia, whose smile keeps growing wider, and puts his hands on her shoulders, holding her back. She doesn't resist – not yet.

"He'll come for you, you know," Lydia says as Deaton bends down, pulling the cork out of the vial. "And don't even think that you can fight him. He'll win."

A chill runs down Allison's spine, and she can't tell if it's because of the words themselves or the flat way in which Lydia says them. It's not a threat, not a warning; it's a promise.

With one last look at Scott, Deaton forces Lydia's mouth open. Now she resists. Allison has to turn away, so appalled by the way Lydia is struggling to break free. _It's not Lydia. This is the only way to save her. _After a few unsuccessful attempts, Deaton steps back and looks at Allison and Isaac.

Without being told, Allison knows that her help is being requested. Isaac steps forward to take her place, but she gently nudges him back. It's her best friend, and she needs to do what she can to save her. So Allison grits her teeth and holds Lydia back, and between her and Scott they manage to keep her still enough for Deaton to pour the liquid down her throat. But even after Lydia has swallowed, even after she's shivering with the effects of the potion, she's still muttering the same thing, over and over. "He'll come for you. He'll kill you."

Suddenly the struggling becomes more frantic, until Allison is worried that Lydia is going to snap a bone or a tendon. A light fades from Lydia's eyes and Allison wonders if they made a horrible mistake, but then Lydia leans forward, lets out a cough that sounds like it's breaking her ribs, and a fly tumbles from her mouth. Deaton quickly scoops it up and disappears to dispose of it, while the remaining people watch Lydia cautiously.

She's breathing heavily, her chest heaving, but she's not struggling anymore. There are tears in her eyes – of pain, of joy, of something Allison can't quite identify – and after a minute she goes still.

"Lydia?" Scott asks tentatively.

The banshee takes a deep shuddering breath, her eyes darker but somehow more familiar, and Allison can sense something about her – something different, like the weight of what she's done is still pressing down on her, wrapping around her like a shawl. But behind that is the old Lydia, the one they'd tried so desperately to save.

She looks at all of them in turn and then faces Scott again, her eyes shining with relief. "I knew you could do it," she says, her voice weak and breathy even though there's fire in her eyes again. "I knew you could save me."

And before Scott can so much as thank her, Lydia's eyes close and she slumps back in her chair, and Allison can't help but think that they might not have saved her after all.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**So does that explain a bit? Or did I lose you all?**

**Next chapter will have some Sheriff/Melissa (or John/Melissa because I refuse to accept that his name might be anything else) feels, and I think a few of you guys might be excited for that given the reaction I had a few chapters back.**

**So, don't forget to review, and I'll see you all soon (either tomorrow for my update of 'fugue', in the one-shot I'll post on Friday, or the next update a week from today).**


	17. Fireflies

**Hi all. Before we start, you all should check out (/review) a story called 'and deaton was right' by xoxomolls. You'll see why when you get there. Actually while you're there just read all of her stuff, you won't regret it.**

**Anyway. Thanks as always for the reviews, you guys are awesome. We're not quite halfway through the story yet, so I hope you'll all stick with me for the rest of it. And now, here's the next chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Clouds hang heavy in the sky, and guilt weighs heavy on Melissa's heart. She knows this is a melodramatic way of thinking about it, but she can be forgiven for such thoughts because this is Beacon Hills, and she's the unofficial mother of a pack of supernatural kids who happen to on occasion be forced to save the town from unimaginable horrors. Only Scott and Isaac live with her, but she's had interactions with the others – having Allison over when she and Scott were dating, offering Lydia advice when the whole pack comes over to hang out. She knows those kids like the back of her hand, and she also knows that her son isn't dead.

If Scott had died, she would feel it. She's his mother, she's been the only parent in his life for years, and she would know if somebody had killed him. She can sense that something's not right, but in Beacon Hills that's not unusual. She doesn't get all the details, but she's aware that Scott and the others do a lot more monster-hunting than she can fathom. Something's happened to Scott, she knows that, but she's sure he's not dead.

And it's not just that, she thinks as she adjusts her seatbelt and takes the first left, it's more than that. Scott's not dead – and even if he was, Isaac couldn't have done it. Scott had explained a bit about werewolves, back when Melissa had first found out. He'd told her that sometimes they can't control the change, especially at first, and they might do things they don't remember or don't mean to do. She could understand if Isaac had done something like that, if he'd lost control and hurt somebody after he wolfed out – that's not out of the realm of possibilities. But she cannot, under any circumstance, imagine Isaac deliberately and purposefully turning against Scott.

Isaac's been Scott's friend for a while, and Melissa's unofficial ward for a little less than that, and she feels that she knows him better than his father ever did. He's a sweet kid, a little impulsive at times but always with good intentions. He's had a rough childhood, and he doesn't like to talk about it, but he's not _troubled_. He's insecure, yes, and maybe a little reserved, but she's seen him shrug off the weight of the past and embrace his new self – as part of Scott's pack. He's not the type to go rogue, to do what Allison had said he'd done – and definitely not to do it to _Scott_.

She remembers a night not long after Isaac had moved in, when she had been up late watching a movie and had fallen asleep on the couch. She was roused by a sound from upstairs, a frantic thumping, and her heart had picked up the rhythm and propelled her up the stairs. She met Scott in the hall and they shared a worried look before venturing into Isaac's room. The poor boy was in the corner, banging against the wall, letting out a weak whimper every now and then. He was still asleep, but as soon as the McCalls entered the room he jerked awake, his eyes wide and terrified, and then he had relaxed. It was barely perceptible – a slight slumping of the shoulders, an exhale barely heard, a fist slightly unclenched – but it was there, and she'd known what it meant. He trusted them.

And she trusts him. However, this doesn't negate the fact that Allison seems to think Isaac capable of murder. There had been something _off_ about Allison tonight, Melissa thinks, something not quite right. She'd been a little too bold, her sobs a little too loud, her grief almost feigned. This rules out the possibility of Allison having been mistaken, but brings up an even graver idea: that she might be lying.

Since she has no idea what might have prompted Allison to lie about Scott's death, she's going to the one person she can trust, the one person who knows about supernatural and might be able to help her with this. She parks in front of the Stilinski house, remembering the first time she'd been here. It hadn't been long after Scott and Stiles had become friends, and the Sheriff had come out to greet them, a wide smile on his face and a cup of tea for her, to thank her for bringing her son over to play. Stiles had been bouncing off the walls all morning, he said, and had been so excited that he hadn't even pestered his father with his usual pleas for attention. It was a blissfully quiet day for both of the parents, as the kids played in the backyard.

It's quiet today too, but in an oppressive way, in a way that makes Melissa pull her jacket tighter around her as she starts off across the street. It doesn't take long for the Sheriff to open the door, and even less time to cover his surprise. He steps back to let her in, asking no questions and demanding no explanations.

They don't speak until they're sitting at the kitchen table, and he's setting a cup of tea down in front of her. Peppermint. Like the kind he'd offered her that first day. She holds the cup in her hands but doesn't drink. The warmth stings her skin but she doesn't let go, not until the Sheriff gently pries the cup from her hands and looks at the red marks it left. He puts the cup just slightly out of her reach and then he catches her eye.

"What's going on?" he asks, and suddenly she's spilling the whole story.

She tells him how she hasn't seen Scott since yesterday. How she doesn't know where Isaac is. How Allison had told her that Isaac had killed Scott, and how she's positive that's not what happened. But she doesn't quite tell him everything. She doesn't tell him about the coldness gripping her heart or the tightness in her chest or the fact that she keeps wishing her son wasn't a werewolf and then laughing at herself because what kind of motherly concern is that? She should be worried about his grades or his girlfriends or his allowance, not whether he's battling alphas or hunting down druids.

But her eyes must give her away, because when the Sheriff speaks his voice is gentle. "I don't think Scott is dead," he says, and Melissa feels dizzy with relief. It seems more real now that someone else has said it; it's not all in her head, and it means that Scott can't be dead. He pauses, surveying her, and then he says, "He didn't tell you everything, did he?"

Melissa looks up at him and then down at his hands, realizing she's been digging the nails of one into the palm of the other. She rests her hands flat on the table, tries to prepare herself, and asks, "What do you mean?"

The Sheriff keeps looking at her, and she doesn't look away. She doesn't want to. She has the crazy thought that she wants him to look at her in a certain way, but that's foolish and inappropriate and she forces it out of her mind. "Does the word 'nogitsune' mean anything to you?"

Melissa shakes her head, and before she can say that she doesn't want to know what a nogitsune is, the Sheriff tells her. A dark spirit. One capable of murder and mischief and mayhem, one that wants to destroy the town and everyone in it. And this one, he says as his voice cracks, is possessing his son. Melissa had known something was going on, something was threatening the pack – Scott and the others had told her that, before the pack dinner that had ended with them taking Lydia to the animal clinic to rid her of… whatever it was that had been plaguing her. But she hasn't heard about a nogitsune, or about the extent of the damage it's done to the pack. As usual, Scott had told her just enough to keep her in the loop, but not enough to cause her undue worry.

Silence settles over them. The Sheriff gets to his feet, tips the tea down the sink, and then pours a healthy measure of Scotch into two glasses and hands one to Melissa.

"I'm sorry," she says, because it's all she can think to say. What is she supposed to say? There are no words that could console him, no way to fix the light that's dimming in his eyes or the worry she can hear in his voice. It strikes her heart like lightning and she wants to hug him, but she knows she shouldn't. Not when they have work to do.

"Scott tells me he's doing everything he can," the Sheriff says, and Melissa feels a swell of pride at the amount of trust he's put in her son, like he really thinks that Scott can handle whatever is going on. "But if Scott's missing, and so's Isaac…"

"Then something bad must be going down," Melissa says gravely, watching as the Sheriff downs his drink. She stares at hers, and then looks back to him. "What are we supposed to do? Normally I'd ask Scott, but…"

The Sheriff sighs. "Hell if I know. I'm still getting used to this whole supernatural thing myself. I can barely keep up when Stiles tries to tell me about it, so I don't know how I'm meant to figure it out for myself."

"I know what you mean." Melissa runs her finger along the rim of her glass, the guilt weighing more heavily on her. Scott and Isaac are gone. They're her responsibility, and she failed them. And Stiles is gone too, and Allison's not herself, and everything is crashing down around her and she can't breathe –

"Hey."

The word collects her swirling thoughts and stills them. She looks up at the Sheriff, lets herself drown in his eyes for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. "I'm fine," she says, and then takes a mouthful of the Scotch. It burns, and that's good. She needs something to chase away the growing coldness that's taking over her body. She needs fire, and this is as close as she can get. "We can't do this on our own," she admits, and she hates herself for it. She's supposed to be strong, self-sufficient, and she can't even find her own son.

"No," the Sheriff says, thoughtfully, reluctantly. "But we might be able to call someone who can help."

Melissa finishes the rest of her drink and lets the glass hit the table with a gentle thud. "Who?"

"Allison's father." The Sheriff is waiting for her permission, her decision, deferring to her as if he thinks that being the mother of the alpha gives her some kind of supernatural sense of clarity or good leadership.

"Call him," she says decisively, because she knows that's what Scott would do. He would ask for help if he needed it; he's always been like that. But she can't help but wonder whether he'd asked this time, and she just hadn't heard his call.

While the Sheriff calls Mr Argent, Melissa lets her mind wander. She can taste Scotch on her tongue and she can feel heaviness in her heart and even digging her nails into her arm does nothing to slow her racing heart. She needs to think, she needs to act, she needs to step up and save her son. She needs to be rational about this, and not let her emotions run away with her. Just this once, it's her job to save Scott, and she hopes she's up to the task.

The Sheriff hangs up and returns to the table, but he doesn't sit. He leans one hand against it, like his own strength is failing him and he doesn't trust his legs to keep him upright. Melissa knows that feeling all too well, which is why she's surprised when she finds herself on her feet. She's even more surprised when she walks over to him. She tries to swerve at the last moment, to pretend she was going to the fridge or the sink, but he catches her. His hand holds her wrist, and she knows he can tell that her pulse is racing. She feels a jolt, a spike, and then a rush of surprise as their lips meet.

It's not the kind of fire she was looking for, but it will work just as well.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Here's a little teaser for next chapter:**

_Without any warning, Lydia loses her mind. There's no room left for her, no cracks to squeeze through, no footholds or caves or shadows to hide in. All her thoughts are pushed out by a barrage of noise, pounding against her skull like a thunderstorm, and she puts her hands over her ears and close her eyes but she can't shut them out, can't breathe, can't think –_

_It stops._

**See you all there, and don't forget to review. ;)**


	18. Abomination

**Hi wolflets, and thanks for the reviews. Special incentive to keep reviewing: whenever I hit 100 reviews, whether that be this chapter or in five chapters' time or whenever, I'll update again right away. So get on that.**

**I really like this chapter, but it's given me all sorts of nostalgic Allydia feels. But I mean it's not like twice this week I've been up late watching Allison videos on Youtube and quietly sobbing to myself... yeah, definitely not. Anyway. Slight warning for this chapter: some suggestive content. It's me so there won't be anything way graphic or smutty, but there's some questionable stuff here.**

**I think that's about it. Read, review (especially if you're one of my regulars - a few of you have been MIA lately and I miss you guys), and I'll see you next week.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

"Guys." For the past ten minutes Lydia has been steadily avoiding the gazes of her packmates, but she can't do it anymore. She looks up at each of them in turn – Scott, Allison, Isaac. Even Kira, who's been filled in on the situation. "I'm fine," the banshee says sternly, but no one believes her and she doesn't expect them to.

She also doesn't expect them to treat her with such sympathy. She knows what had happened; she remembers. She can remember the blood on her hands, on her cheek, the wildness in her eyes as she'd washed her face in Scott's bathroom. She remembers every time that _other person _took over, even though she knows it was her. Deaton had explained it to her, after they'd gotten rid of the nogitsune's poison fly. It had all been her. Under the influence of magic, of course, but still _her_. They shouldn't be looking at her in sympathy; it should be fear that's splashed across their faces, like the blood had been splashed across hers.

"You're not fine," Allison says, low, not confrontational but not passive either. She'd driven Lydia home last night after what happened at the animal clinic, and she'd refused to leave until Lydia had promised that she would call the second anything felt strange.

She had promised, but she hadn't followed through. She'd been up half the night with stomach cramps and a raging headache, which she had suffered through without letting herself reach for the bottle of painkillers. She deserved this pain and so much more for what she'd done, for what she'd tried to do – for what she'd wanted to do. The things she had thought… she would never be able to tell her friends about it. She had thought horrible things, had planned how to take down each of her packmates, how to break them apart and hand them over to the nogitsune. It had all been her, and she doesn't think they understand that.

How could they understand, when they haven't been through what she has? The only one who might be able to understand is Stiles, and she can't talk to him. Nobody can talk to him because a nogitsune has taken over him and spirited him away somewhere. When Lydia isn't drowning in the depths of her concern for him, she feels a hint of envy. Stiles isn't doing these horrible things. He can't stop them, but he doesn't mean them. She had killed someone, and she can't blame it all on the magic. There had to be some part of her that had been vulnerable, that had wanted this to happen. She wonders if Stiles is fighting, but of course he is. He would never give up.

"I would be a lot better if you guys would all stop staring at me like I'm about to go off the rails," she says, aiming for firm and hitting somewhere a little south of terse instead. She doesn't want to hurt them, but she doesn't want to let them get close. She can't risk that, not now she knows the kind of darkness inside her.

"We're just concerned," Scott says, diplomatic as always. "You haven't been yourself, even before…"

He leaves the words hanging but they all know what he means. She hasn't been herself since before Stiles stopped being himself. She'd figured there was no point worrying them about her banshee powers messing with her mind; there's nothing they could do anyway. She's got werewolves and hunters and druids on her side, but she's the only banshee. She doesn't want to admit it, but she's lonely. She screams for people she's never met, aches for people she's never loved, grieves for people she'll never know, and there's not much room left in her heart or mind for herself. It's all about surviving; pleasure never enters the equation. She does what she can to get through each day, but that's become substantially more difficult since the nogitsune came into the scene.

"Lydia, you weren't yourself," Isaac says, mistaking her silence for rumination on the events that had led to Carl's death. "It wasn't your fault."

_Wasn't it? _The words linger on her tongue, but they taste sour in her mouth. She swallows them and says, "I know," and gives them a smile she hopes is convincing, enough to fool the others. It works on Scott and Isaac, but not Allison.

No, she could never fool Allison.

The hunter corners her after school, catches her at her locker, demands a heart-to-heart. "You're not okay, and you need to talk to me about it," Allison declares, leaving no room for argument.

"There's nothing to talk about." It's not an argument; it's an end. Lydia turns on her heel and starts down the hall, but Allison keeps pace with her until they reach the doors.

Then the dark-haired hunter steps in front of her, blocking her way out of the school. "No," Allison says, folding her arms.

Lydia blinks. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." Allison taps her fingers against her arm, perfectly balancing frustration and affection. "You're going to keep brushing me off unless I force you to tell me what's going on, so consider this me forcing you. And -" she hurries on, when Lydia starts to interrupt "- remember that I am a trained werewolf hunter, and I can think of a hundred ways to force you without it leaving a scratch."

If Lydia hadn't just had such a close brush with her own dark side, this would be intimidating. She looks covertly around, making sure nobody overheard this little outburst, and then she sighs. "Fine. We can talk. But not here."

Ten minutes later they're at a café on the edge of town, and Lydia is sitting with one leg crossed over the other and her fingers drumming against the tabletop. The café seems like a mix between an 80s-style diner and a futuristic bar, some intermediate form that time forgot. Allison is waiting in line, having insisted on paying for their drinks. Lydia is considering going up to her and telling her she's changed her mind when someone slides into the booth beside her.

Every muscle freezes; her heartbeat stops. She only sees him out of the corner of her eyes but she knows who it is. "You shouldn't be here," she murmurs, knowing she should be screaming, but she can't. Selfish as it is, she wants this moment to herself. There's no buzzing in her head, no voices, just her and Stiles – and she knows it's not really him, but in this moment it doesn't matter.

"I shouldn't do a lot of things," he says, nonchalant as his finger drifts under the table, rests on Lydia's knee, starts sliding up her thigh. "But who's going to stop me?"

She should stop him; she should scream. She should slap him or punch him or stab him with the butter knife that's just by her hand. Her fingers twitch, but he sees through her in a second.

"Now, now," he admonishes gently, pushing the knife out of the way with his spare hand. His other hand is still on her thigh, higher up, and she knows she should push it away. She doesn't. "There's no need for that. I just want to talk, Lydia."

"You're not Stiles," she says, as much to remind herself as to let him know that she can see through any disguise he may try.

"No," he says thoughtfully, his hand now playing with the lip of her skirt, "I'm not. But I can do things that Stiles can't."

His hand dips below the top of her skirt and she finally finds it in her to move. She pushes him away, but in doing so backs herself into a corner. She shoots a panicked glance up at the counter, not sure whether she wants Allison to see or not. If she sees, she'll try to stop him – but he might retaliate, and he has the advantage. He could slaughter everyone in the place and not feel a thing, but Allison would hesitate before she even drew her bow, let alone pointed it at someone who looked like a friend. But if Allison doesn't see, Lydia doesn't want to think about what Stiles – the nogitsune – will do to her.

"Hear me out, Lydia," he says, and she hates the way her heart skips a beat when he says her name. By the smirk on his face, she can tell that he knows. "I have something to offer you."

"I'm not interested," she says, but neither of them accept the lie.

"You're unhappy, Lydia." He moves closer to her again, this time taking one of her hands in his, running a thumb along the back of her hand, but there's nothing familiar or romantic about the gesture – it's like he's looking for her veins, wondering how best to hurt her. Deciding whether he should kill her here and now or turn her against her friends. She jerks away, but not before she becomes unpleasantly aware of the tingle that his touch had caused. "I actually kinda like that, but Stiles. Oh, boy, is he pissed. See, he made a deal with me. Do you know what he wanted?"

She doesn't, and she doesn't want to know. She fixes her gaze on Allison, waits for the hunter to turn back to her, to see what's going on, but she doesn't.

"You, Lydia," the nogitsune says, and her attention snaps back to him. "Stiles sold his soul for you, and if you keep running around with that little pack of yours you're going to get yourself killed. Is that any way to repay him?"

Lydia doesn't like being in anyone's debt, but the price is too high. Leave the pack, or lose Stiles. She can't do either. She can't breathe. "I'm not leaving them," she says, but even as the words leave her mouth she knows they're not true. Something inside her shifts, makes way for the nogitsune's next words to snake their way into her heart.

They sink their teeth in.

"They're all going to die, Lydia."

She can't get the poison out.

"And if you don't join me, you'll die too."

She bites her lip and says nothing.

Stiles – or the thing in his body, at least – rolls his eyes. "Stiles told me you'd be stubborn, but I didn't expect quite this much resistance." He's still holding her hand, in such a painfully familiar way now that it makes her feel sick. "Let me ask you something, Lydia. You've been hearing voices lately, haven't you? I thought so. Can you hear them now?"

She doesn't look in his eyes but she can't look away from his face, her eyes tracing over the familiar angles and shadows, mapping out the planes of his body even though she knows the real Stiles is trapped somewhere deep within. Then she shakes her head.

"Ah," the nogitsune says, unsurprised. "And how about now?"

Without any warning, Lydia loses her mind. There's no room left for her, no cracks to squeeze through, no footholds or caves or shadows to hide in. All her thoughts are pushed out by a barrage of noise, pounding against her skull like a thunderstorm, and she puts her hands over her ears and close her eyes but she can't shut them out, can't breathe, can't think –

It stops.

Cautiously she lowers her hands, opens her eyes, and sees the nogitsune smiling back at her, smiling in a way that's so like Stiles that Lydia has to remind herself that it's not him.

"Better now?" the nogitsune asks. Lydia's silence is enough answer for him. "I can make it stop. I can make it quiet -" he pauses for a fraction of a second, and she hadn't noticed before but his hand is on her back, and now it slides up, tangles in her hair, and then he taps her head, gently, and finishes, "- in here."

She tries to push him away, to pull her heart away, but the quietness can almost be mistaken for peace, and god she needs that right now. So she gives herself this moment, this stolen moment in a café with a boy who's not quite hers and a mind that's not quite his.

He doesn't expect an answer, and she doesn't give one. Instead he turns to face her, cups her face in his hands, and kisses her. It's passionate, fierce, possessive, and Lydia knows she should hate it. Part of her does, but part of her feels a rush of warmth, of pleasure, of all those things she's been so desperately missing.

"Find me when you're ready," he says, his lips lingering just above hers, and then he's gone.

And part of her is too.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Because I'm a horrible person, here's a(n edited) snippet from the next chapter.**

_"You can't kill me," [name] says, but [the] declaration sounds more like a question._

_"Maybe not," Allison says mildly, "but I can make it hurt like hell."_

**Any guesses as to what's going on there?**


	19. Party guessed

**I miss Allison. That is all.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Even though she's on the other edge of town, Lydia can still feel Stiles – or, more accurately, the nogitsune. It's not quite a physical sensation, more like a dim awareness. She can tell when he's excited, when he's angry. She could probably tell when he's scared, except that he never is. She suspects he's gone to visit Scott, given the particular blend of emotions she's getting from him now – a malicious kind of delight, a sick kind of excitement, and something akin to guilt. That last one is from Stiles, the real Stiles, so she tries to block it out.

On some level, she knows that it's not really Stiles. She's allied with the nogitsune, the demon who had destroyed Stiles, and if someone had told her a month ago that this would have happened, she probably would have laughed – or watched as Allison slammed them into a wall for insinuating that her best friend would ever willingly do something like this. Her friends had always believed in her – except for a few times when they did think she might have been behind something evil, but that had stopped when she found out she was a banshee and officially joined Scott's pack – and yet here she was, running around with a nogitsune.

"Are we almost there?" Allison asks from the driver's seat, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

Lydia peers out the window, focusing on the trees that whiz past outside and not on the tiny hint of uneasiness that rests uncomfortably in her heart. It's worse when the nogitsune's not here, she knows, and she also knows that there are two options. He's not controlling her, per se, but he is influencing her. She could walk away, could turn her back on him and his crusade and go back to a pack that no longer exists. She would be alone, and before she could even ask for help, the nogitsune would probably kill Scott or Allison or both. He wouldn't kill her – could never kill her – but that just makes it worse.

She knows that walking away isn't an option, and most of her is set against that idea anyway. Since she's been with Stiles – she likes to think of him like that, even though it's not really him – it's been blissfully quiet in her mind, not a whisper or a whimper to be heard. And every time she thinks she might be better off without the nogitsune, she remembers that day in the café, when he'd let all the voices take over her mind. That's enough to remind her why she's doing this. She can't go on like that. It's not healthy, not stable, not something she can live with. If she were stronger, maybe, but not the way she is now. The only way to keep her sanity was to sell her soul.

"Turn right," Lydia instructs, and Allison complies.

They pull off the main road and into the woods, driving past a rusted gate that's hanging off its hinges and down a dirt road with more potholes than there are trees in the forest. Allison drives slowly, but she's not cautious exactly – she's watching. Alert, aware, waiting. Lydia is well aware of the irony of this – Allison is in full hunter mode, and she is technically hunting down a werewolf, but she's on the wrong side. The very traits that make her dangerous to the nogitsune are the traits that make her valuable, and could well be the only reason she's still alive.

They drive for a few more minutes, deeper into the trees, but neither of them are scared. Lydia remembers hearing Scott tell the story of how he became a werewolf – how it was Stiles' fault, of course – because he ran off into the woods. He'd been terrified, he said, but these days he doesn't ever look scared. She remembers him racing into danger on numerous occasions, and he's never scared.

Before joining forces with the nogitsune, Lydia was scared all the time. She never told anyone, of course, because she didn't want to burden them. She was part of the pack, and she needed to keep up. But she was never as strong as the werewolves, as fearless as the hunter, as noble as Stiles. She was the one who found the bodies and got herself into trouble and occasionally provided help with translation. She wasn't much of an asset, even when she came into her powers and realized that she wanted to help people. It's hard to help people when she's always at breaking point herself.

She doesn't feel broken now, though, she reflects as Allison parks the car in the middle of the road. She feels strong. Safe, even. The darkness and the silence are her companions now, as comforting as a blanket, as a lullaby, as the sound of Stiles' voice. Her eyes scan the gloom as she and Allison get out of the car, and it doesn't take long to pinpoint where Isaac is.

"Oh," Allison says when she sees him, "wow."

Isaac definitely doesn't look good. He's propped up against one of the smaller trees, tied to it actually, and there's a slight purplish bruise on his face where Allison had hit him earlier. It had been easy enough to get him out here, since he was still unconscious, but Lydia had expected him to be awake by now.

As they approach him, making no move to hide their presence, she realizes that he is awake. He's squeezing his eyes closed, muttering something under his breath, and with a jolt she senses that he's scared. Werewolves aren't supposed to be scared; what do they have to be scared about anyway? Then she realizes: her. Isaac is scared of them, because he knows whose side they're on – and because he doesn't know what they're going to do now.

"Hey Isaac," Allison croons as she reaches him, and reluctantly he opens his eyes.

But he's not looking at Allison. He's looking at Lydia, and his gaze burns a hole into her. She takes half a step back, surprised by the intensity. "What did you do to her?" he growls.

Lydia doesn't answer right away. Because for just a moment, she had forgotten herself. In Isaac's eyes had been an accusation, a question, a reminder. _This isn't who you are_. He's right, of course. This isn't who she is. But it's who she's becoming, and that's going to have to be enough. "Same thing the nogitsune did to me," Lydia says nonchalantly, watching as Allison sinks down to her knees beside Isaac, resting a gloved hand against his cheek. He jerks away, still not looking at her.

"Don't feel too bad for me," Allison says in a mockingly gentle tone, and now he finally does look up at her. "I feel fine, Isaac. Great, even. Much better than I did when…"

She trails off, confusion darkening her features. Then she shakes her head, gets to her feet, and dusts some leaves off her jeans.

"Better than I did when I was with Scott's pack," she finishes, but she's less sure of herself now. Or maybe she's more sure – sure that this isn't who she's meant to be.

Lydia remembers when she herself was infected by one of the nogitsune's flies, how she'd fought her way back to the surface for brief moments, how she had remembered herself completely only to have it snatched away from her again. She knows the look in Allison's eyes, and she knows where this is headed. And she knows what the nogitsune will do if Allison turns against him.

"We should go," Lydia says, her heels crunching over the crisp leaves as she walks over to her friend. "Stiles will be waiting."

Her attempts to mitigate the situation are ineffective. Allison looks at her, then down at her feet, and finally back at Isaac. And then she snaps. Lydia can see it in her eyes, can see some of her old fire burning through the darkness, and she knows where this is going. She also knows that she can't let it happen.

"Allison," she says more insistently, grabbing her friend's arm and trying to pull her away.

But Allison shrugs her off, closes her eyes, thinks for a moment. And when she turns her gaze back on Lydia, her eyes are ablaze. For the first time tonight – for the first time in a long time – Lydia is scared.

"Allison?" Isaac asks tentatively, immediately sensing something different about her.

It's not just _something_ that's different. Everything is. The way she holds herself, the look in her eyes, even the air around her, which begins to crackle with barely perceptible electricity. Allison the hunter is back, and suddenly Lydia's the one who's outnumbered. Her friends wouldn't hurt her, of course – not in their eyes, at least. But what they don't know is that if they found a way to bring her back to their side, that would hurt. She would be in pain, her mind would be in chaos, and they would lose her anyway.

It's too late. Allison is back, and unless Lydia can find a way to reignite the nogitsune's magic in her, this is going to end very badly.

Allison hasn't moved, but now Lydia sees that she's shaking – with fear, with shock, with anger. Lydia can't tell, and it doesn't matter. She needs to bring Allison back. Now.

"Allison -" she says, reaching for her again, but the hunter takes a deliberate step away from her.

"What are you doing?" Allison asks, her voice at odds with the fire in her eyes. It's defeated – not quite broken but close – and Lydia has never heard her sound so tired. She lifts her gaze to meet Lydia's eyes. "Lydia, why are you doing this?"

Lydia freezes. There are very few questions Lydia can't answer, but this is one of them. Wordlessly, she shakes her head. She can't explain, she can't ask them to understand, and she won't beg them for forgiveness. Something like disappointment melts into Allison's eyes, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she starts walking back toward Isaac, reaching down to untie him.

_No_. Lydia darts toward them, and suddenly Allison is pointing an arrow at her and Lydia's pulling up short. The hunter isn't looking at her, but her aim is accurate – if she shot that arrow, Lydia wouldn't stand a chance. For a fleeting moment she considers prompting her, provoking her, tricking Allison into shooting her anyway – because at least then this would be over. But instinct kicks in and she freezes. "Allison," she says very carefully. "I'm not a demon. I'm not even possessed."

"No," Allison says, and this time the disappointment flows from her eyes into her words, and Lydia can't help but look away. The unsaid words are heavy in the air. _You're doing this of your own accord, and that's even worse. _ "But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to take you down."

The words are almost a snarl, and they make Lydia's skin crawl. She's heard this tone before – it's the one Allison uses against her enemies, against the killers and the criminals and the people who deserve to be taken down. And now Lydia's one of them.

"You can't kill me," Lydia says, but her declaration sounds more like a question.

"Maybe not," Allison says mildly, "but I can make it hurt like hell."

Lydia stays where she is, speechless, and watches as Allison bends down to untie Isaac. And then, to everyone's complete and utter surprise, Allison changes again. There's no obvious catalyst, no trigger that Lydia can see, but one minute she's faced with Allison the hunter and the next it's the new version of her, the one with darker eyes and a wicked smile. Instead of untying Isaac, she punches him. Lydia suspects that the pain that flashes across Isaac's face has more to do with the implications than the physical blow, although she doesn't doubt that Allison put a lot of force behind it.

"Allison, please," he says, and he's begging now and some sick part of Lydia enjoys that. "Don't do this. It isn't you."

The hunter straightens, rests her bow against her shoulder, gives Isaac a smile. "It is now," she says smoothly, and then she turns back to Lydia. "Come on. I've seen enough here."

Without another word Lydia leads the way back to the car. She thinks she can hear Isaac murmuring behind them, something that sounds like _Come back to me, _but neither of the girls react to it. The drive back to the hideout is quiet, and Lydia keeps a careful eye on Allison. But the hunter shows no signs of regressing back to her pre-nogitsune-magic state, and Lydia is feeling significantly more relaxed when they reach the hideout. Now that Isaac's awake he'll be able to break free reasonably quickly, but there's not much he can do after that. Derek and the twins are occupied with each other, and Isaac will never be able to find Scott. He'll be alone, and for the moment they'll leave him alone.

When they greet Stiles in the hideout, neither of them mention the slip-up in the forest. Allison thanks her for it later, and Lydia smiles, but inside she's wondering why she didn't mention it. She tells herself it's because she doesn't want Stiles – the nogitsune – to overreact, and that she's sure the real Allison isn't going to pose a threat. But some small, hidden part of her – the part that disappears altogether when she's next to the nogitsune – is hoping that the real Allison will fight back, will be strong where Lydia had been weak, and will find a way to save them.

After Allison is asleep, Stiles comes to Lydia. He rouses her from her bed, leads her quietly into the room with all the books. Without being told, Lydia knows what this is. Like he promised, it's quick and painless. It's over in a matter of seconds, and when Lydia opens her eyes she feels more like herself than she has in days. But she's not in the book room anymore. She's in a different room, a cold and sterile place with white walls and a slowly whirring ceiling fan overhead. She is painfully, completely herself, and for the first time she feels the weight of what she's done. And she screams – for her friends, for Carl, for Stiles, for her sanity. She screams until her throat is raw and tears are falling down her face, but she doesn't really make a sound.

Outside, in the room with the books, Lydia's head tilts. She smiles. Catches Stiles in a kiss. And she knows that everything is going to be okay.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Anyway. Thanks for the reviews, as always. Remember, 100 reviews and another update, so do what you can. For those of you who read my Surprise Friday fics, what do you want to see next: a Scott/Allison or a Scott/Kira one-shot? Both are written, both are angsty, one slightly more depressing; I don't know which one I want to publish first, so you guys let me know and I'll see what I can do. Now off I go to mentally prepare for the next episode - anyone else as scared as I am?**

**(oh also yes, in case you were wondering, Lydia is totally possessed now)**


	20. Currents

**Hey guys. Miss me? ;) No one reads my ANs anyway so let's just get to it. Thanks for the reviews, and enjoy the next chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

As an alpha, Scott knows when his pack isn't at its strongest; and as a teenager, he can tell when his friends aren't at their best. This makes for a painful mix, because he's doubly aware that things aren't right. They haven't been for a long time, not since Stiles became possessed. And even before then, everything wasn't okay. It's always something in Beacon Hills, some kind of supernatural evil determined to destroy or overthrow or take over, and if Scott weren't so desperately terrified he would find the whole thing humorous. A bunch of teenagers running around town, led by a boy who can barely pass an exam and used to barely be able to pass a lacrosse ball, trying to fight back the supernatural forces that threaten to overwhelm them.

It should be funny, and in the back of his mind Scott knows this. But most of his mind is taken up by more immediate concerns, by the life or death decisions he has to make every day. His pack is falling apart, and he doesn't know how to fix it. And what's worse, everyone expects him to know how to make things better. He can remember a conversation he had with Isaac, not long after they'd become friends, when Scott had admitted that he never knows what he's doing and he's always just hoping for the best. He's had similar conversations with all of the group, but they still don't get it.

Of course they don't. They couldn't, not unless they'd been in his position. They don't say it a lot, but everyone understands it. They all know that Scott is in charge. He's the alpha, and more than that, he's a _leader_. His mother had once told him that people gravitate toward him because he inspires trust and confidence – not just in himself but in others too. He's the kind of person who always tries to see the bright side, whose unflinching loyalty prompts others to reach deep and do things they never thought they could.

But this time there is no bright side. He's looked at it from every angle, he's agonized over every potential outcome, every decision, every step he could take down this dangerous path, and it all ends the same. For the first time he feels totally, hopelessly lost. He doesn't know how to move forward, and he doesn't know who to ask to help him figure it out. Normally he would talk to Stiles; they've been together since the start, and they've always tackled the evil together.

It's been almost a week since anyone has heard from Stiles, and they've had no luck tracking him. Scott and Isaac have gone into the woods a few times tracking his scent, but it vanishes suddenly, and he can't be sure it wasn't a red herring anyway. They haven't had enough interaction with the nogitsune to know what it's capable of yet, so it wouldn't surprise Scott if it could fake scents or make them spontaneously disappear. Quite frankly, nothing really surprises him anymore.

About a week after Stiles had disappeared, Scott can feel his pack reaching its breaking point. He drifts through the day, talking to one packmate at a time, and he gets the same vibe from all of them. Allison, Isaac, Lydia – they're all depressed, defeated, worried almost to death and trying desperately not to let on that they're not as strong as they want to be. They sit separately at lunch, by accident rather than by design, but somehow it seems right. They're not splitting up, just fading away, the pack disintegrating as the struggle inside each of them wears them down.

As expected, Lydia is the most affected by what had happened. Scott tries to talk to her before school, but she shrugs him off. She's been doing it a lot lately, and he doesn't blame her; he just wishes he could help her. She doesn't want to talk about it, and he can't make her, but he also can't protect her. The pack is splintering, and if he can't pull them back together he might lose them all.

Strangely, it's not one of the pack members who comes up with the idea. It's Kira, who's Scott's unofficial girlfriend and an honorary pack member, who first mentions it, and even then he thinks she's kidding. She's not.

"It could be a really good thing," she says, eager but reserved, like she's still not sure of her place in all this. Scott understands where she's coming from, and thinks it unfortunate that she came in at this particular time. Even by Beacon Hills standards, everything is chaotic right now.

"Maybe," Scott says, reluctant but not wanting to push her away. The thought of losing any more friends terrifies him, and the thought of never getting Stiles back actually freezes him to the spot whenever he stops to think about it. He doesn't do that often, but when Kira suggests a pack bonding session, it's the first thing he thinks of. It's not right, not without Stiles, but of course they can't invite Stiles because they have no freaking clue where he is or if he's even alive.

"Come on," Kira urges, and she even lets her fingers brush against his hand as they walk side by side down the hall. "It'll be fun."

A spark of electricity shoots through Scott, and he bites back a smile. With all that's going on, he's grateful that Kira's here. Without her he would probably be a mess, but she's here to steady him and hold him up when his own strength is failing him. The interesting thing is that he's reasonably sure she doesn't even know she's doing it; it just comes naturally, and he loves her for it.

"Okay," Scott agrees as they reach the doors, pushing through them and out into bright sunshine. "You're sure your dad won't mind?"

"I'm sure," she says quickly, her voice breathy with relief. "He and my mom went out of town to meet some of their friends, some people who might know more about this whole nogitsune thing. They won't be back until tomorrow night."

And so it's decided. Some of the pack is harder to convince than others. Isaac almost jumps at the chance, and Scott feels that familiar tug on his heartstrings that comes from a painful understanding of just how broken Isaac's life had been, and how much he values finally having a family. Allison takes a little bit of persuading, but she cares about Stiles too and Scott manages to convince her that pack solidarity will be the best way to locate their missing friend. Lydia, though. She's a problem.

"It'll be half an hour, max," Scott says to her after school, leaning against the locker beside hers.

She's stacking her textbooks neatly in her locker, tapping her finger against the spines as she counts them off. She closes the locker, and looks mildly surprised to see the alpha standing there. "Sorry," she says absently. "What were you saying?"

Scott tries to squash the brief jolt of panic that bubbles up. He takes in every feature, every detail, from the faint hint of perfume to the exact color of her eyes, and reassures himself that she's not possessed or infected anymore. She's hardly talked to him – to any of them – since they'd removed the nogitsune's poison fly from her, and at first he had attributed it to sheer exhaustion. But days passed and she didn't come back to them. She stayed distant, and he doesn't know how to bring her back. He and Lydia haven't had the most natural or comfortable relationship, but ever since that night at the recital, when she found out she was a banshee, they've been on the same side, if not necessarily the same page. And she's part of the pack, which means that he has to protect her.

"Kira suggested that we have a pack meeting at her house," Scott repeats, and by the vague look on Lydia's face he knows she didn't hear the first time, and he doesn't know if she heard him this time.

Then she shakes her head. "I can't," she says.

Scott waits for an explanation – an excuse, even – but nothing comes. She just turns and walks away, and he can't find it in him to go after her. He wonders if she's realized yet, or if he's the only one who knows. Everyone's aware of how Stiles feels about Lydia, but it might just be Scott who's aware of how Lydia feels. She hasn't said anything, but Scott can tell. It's in the lingering looks, in the accidental touches, in the shared smiles. It's something he can almost feel, like it's hanging in the air, and it's only a matter of time before she realizes it herself. But it might be time they don't have, because if they can't find Stiles, nothing else matters.

When Scott shows up to Kira's house early that evening, Allison is already there. Kira leads the way into the living room, where Allison is sitting cross-legged on the couch and cleaning one of her hunting knives. She looks up as they approach, and offers them a smile – one that's almost sincere, although it's strained. Scott expects it to be awkward, but Kira and Allison seem to be getting along well. While they wait for Isaac to arrive, Allison shows Kira how to load a crossbow.

If it weren't for Stiles' possession, things might actually be good right now. Scott and his friends could be having fun, relaxing, being teenagers, instead of researching how to find and defeat centuries-old Japanese fox demons. He wonders what it's like to be an actual teenager, and if he'll ever get to experience it.

When the doorbell rings he jumps up to get it, leaving Kira and Allison in the living room discussing what could either be brands of bow or types of hair straightener – the names sound unfamiliar, and he's equally as clueless in both. Not for the first time, Scott opens a door and is surprised to see Lydia on the other side of it.

She's significantly more composed than she was the last time they'd been in a situation like this, but she doesn't seem any happier. She seems surprised to see him too, but quickly covers it up. "Hi," she says, and he steps aside to let her in. "Allison persuaded me to come," she adds as he keeps looking at her, and it's enough of an explanation. He doesn't know whether Allison used threats or bribery or a mixture of both, but he's glad it was effective.

They've just reached the living room when the doorbell rings again, and Scott leaves the three girls while he goes and answers it. This time it is Isaac, who out of all of them seems to be faring the best. His optimism isn't contagious, though, and it soon becomes clear that the pack meeting might not be as beneficial as they'd hoped. The three girls share the couch, and Isaac takes the armchair. Scott drags a chair in from the kitchen and sits facing the rest of them, who obediently watch him and wait for him to speak. Even though this was Kira's idea, he's the alpha, and he's meant to be in charge.

He clears his throat. "So, uh, I thought it would be good to just get together and… talk."

It's a lame way to finish, and nobody seems too excited by the prospect. Allison is cleaning her knife again, Kira is fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, and Lydia has her eyes downcast.

In the silence, Scott finds himself focusing on their heartbeats. Allison seems reasonably calm, although she's obviously worried, and Isaac's heartbeat is mostly steady as well. Lydia's heart is fluttering like a bird, such a sharp and insistent noise that Scott has to quickly tune it out. He focuses on his own heart, but that just makes him feel sick.

Scott opens his mouth to say something – anything – else, but to everyone's great surprise, it's Isaac who speaks first.

He doesn't look at anyone when he speaks, and his words fall to the floor like a grenade. "I think we should kill Stiles."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**See y'all next week.**


	21. Ice pick

**Hey guys. I'm sorry for the unannounced absence. I don't really feel like talking about it publicly, but just know that I had a very good reason for disappearing and (I hope to god) it won't happen again. I can't guarantee I'll update regularly for a while, but I will when I can. So no update schedules for now, but there will be new chapters every now and then. I debated not continuing with this story because of a certain plotline that strikes a little too close to home, but you guys have been so wonderful and I don't want to disappoint you. So I'll be continuing on, but I'm a little unsure about how the story goes now. You'll see what I mean later.**

**Anyway. Here's the next chapter, and I hope you like it.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

It takes Isaac almost an hour, but he finally breaks free. Normally he would have been able to get out of a situation like that in a matter of minutes, but whatever Stiles and Lydia had given him has messed with his system. He can't tap into his wolf powers, and he's finding it hard enough to stand, let alone walk. He doesn't suppose this matters, though, because he's got nowhere to go. The nogitsune's taken over Stiles, and Lydia joined them. Allison's on their side too, and, from what he was able to understand, they've also done something to Scott. That's most of the pack gone, and without them Isaac feels lost.

He wanders the streets, and after a while it starts to rain, but he doesn't mind. He barely even feels it, if he's honest, because he's so deep within his own thoughts. It's not just concern for his friends that's making him feel so crazy – it's also a selfish fear, a primal instinct to keep himself alive. He's strongest with the pack, so it would make sense that he's weak without them. But this bothers him, because he'd spent years being weak – and he'd spent years being alone. He'd thought that had changed, but here he is, taken out by something as simple as mind control spell. He doubts Scott would have ever fallen for that.

As he walks, he shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks a rock in front of him, and he lets the rain come down. He lets himself think about Stiles and Lydia, and Scott, and even Kira, but he doesn't let his mind linger too long on the subject of Allison. He almost wishes that she hadn't fought it back in the woods, because to have her come back to herself only to be taken over again had been too cruel, almost like losing her again. But if she keeps fighting, maybe she'll be able to find a way to come back to herself for good. If any of them have the potential to fight something like this, it's Allison.

She's a fighter, and Isaac knows that well. He's got the scars to prove it, after all. But even if she does fight, there's no guarantee that she'll win. She's got Stiles to contend with, or rather the nogitsune, and they still don't know how powerful he is. But if he can easily take out Isaac, and even go after Scott – the true alpha, the most powerful werewolf in Beacon Hills – then he must be pretty damn powerful, or at the very least incredibly confident. Neither of those bode well for them.

And then there's Lydia. Isaac wants to hate her, but he can't. He hasn't had as much to do with her as he has with the others, but he does admire her. She's been through a lot, and she hasn't let it make her weak – but she also hasn't let it make her hard. She's always had a quick wit and a sharp tongue, but she's not a cold person. She has soft edges, a kind smile, and the kind of mind that makes people yearn for her approval. There's something almost intoxicating about her look of approval, and Isaac has the feeling that if he knew her better, he would be striving for her approval too.

For now, he'll just settle for not being killed by her. He's not sure how likely that is, because he still doesn't know what her motivations are. They got rid of the fly that the nogitsune poisoned her with – which, if he heard correctly, is the same method they used to get to Allison – but they hadn't saved her. He'd known it from the start, and had acknowledged it even before Scott had. Lydia had been linked to the nogitsune, although he's still not entirely sure how. She's still linked to him now, and she may not be possessed anymore but she's sure as hell not herself. He doesn't know what she's capable of or how far she'll go.

He's also not sure how far he's gone. His shirt is soaked through and his shoes are heavy, and his feet are starting to ache, and his whole body aches for that matter, but he doesn't really notice it. He just keeps walking, with nowhere to go.

After a while a light washes over him and he moves out of the way, suddenly realizing that he'd been walking down the middle of the road. The car swerves around him, and then it pulls over up ahead. He should be wary, but he's not. He just keeps walking, and as he passes by the car door opens and voices spill out from inside.

"I'm telling you, we should -"

"We can't just -"

"I thought we were -"

"We don't have time -"

"Stop it."

The last voice is the only female one, and she's stern. Her voice is familiar, and Isaac turns to look, and even though everything is distorted through the rain he knows who it is. Mrs McCall hurries over to him, and then she comes to a stop in front of him. He looks up at her, blinking against the rain still hitting his face, and then he finds himself pressed against her as she envelopes him in a firm hug. He rests his head on her shoulder for a moment, and he can almost pretend that this is what it's like to be peaceful.

"I didn't know where you were," she says, and she doesn't mention Scott which must mean that she knows. The hug ends but she holds on, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the car, not even waiting for any kind of protest.

He finds himself in the backseat, and he's not altogether surprised to find that the Sheriff is next to him. Mrs McCall gets back into the passenger's side in the front, and Isaac cranes his neck and sees that Mr Argent is driving. It takes Isaac a second to adjust to this, to remember that some people's parents are actually supportive and genuinely interested in their children's welfare – and that all the people in the car know about the supernatural.

They also know not to push him, and it soon becomes clear why. They drive in silence, and Isaac stares out the window and thinks of nothing but Allison. He should be worried about Scott and Stiles and Lydia and working out how to save them, but instead he's replaying the past day over and over in his mind. He knows it wasn't her, not really, but he can't get past the look in her eyes. It hadn't been anger, or disgust, or any other such strong and negative emotion. It had been complete apathetic dismissal. When she'd punched him – both today and just after she'd been infected – it had been like he was beneath her, like she didn't even want to waste the time to really hurt him.

And, ironically, that's what hurt the most.

It's not long before they pull up at the animal clinic, and as soon as they do Isaac starts to feel a little better. He may not have his alpha, but they're not alone. And if anyone's going to be able to help, it will be Deaton. Isaac follows the adults into the clinic, noticing how at ease Mr Argent is as he leads the way around the back and walks straight through the back door without knocking. Mrs McCall sticks close to Isaac, and the Sheriff sticks close to her, and Mr Argent leads the way.

Deaton is there, as he always is, even though it has to be getting late. He's at the front desk sifting through a pile of papers, but he sets these aside immediately as he sees the group that approaches him. He knows a bit about what's going on, and has been helping them in their fight against the nogitsune – and he knows that something dire must have happened to bring all of the parents here, along with a lone werewolf. (He hates to think it, but he might be the last member of the McCall pack.)

"Are you okay?" Deaton asks, addressing his first question to Isaac. When the werewolf nods, he turns his attention to Argent. "What happened?"

While Mr Argent fills Deaton in on what's gone on, Isaac sits down on the nearest chair, at the recommendation of Mrs McCall, who darts off into another room and somehow comes back with a towel and a dry shirt. Isaac shrugs into it, keeping an eye on Mr Argent and Deaton, listening to the story and wondering why he's not surprised. He also wonders what the nogitsune is planning, and why he hadn't just killed him. Maybe it's the same as with Allison – he just doesn't think he's worth the effort.

By the time Mr Argent has filled Deaton in on the situation, Isaac is starting to warm up. It's been a hellish couple of days, but the effects of the potion that Lydia and Stiles had dosed him with are definitely fading. Aside from a faint nausea and a slight headache, he's fine, which means he can focus on what's going on. Maybe he can find a way to save them.

"Hm." Deaton leans against the counter, thoughtful but seeming unworried. If Isaac couldn't hear his heartbeat he might even believe his act, but he can tell that the druid is as worried as the rest of them; he's just better at hiding it. "It seems that the nogitsune is making his next move."

"Positioning the players," Argent adds, grim. "But the question is: what's the endgame here?"

"This nogitsune," Mrs McCall says, "it likes chaos and destruction, right?"

"Right." Deaton glances at Isaac and then away again. "So maybe its first goal is to destroy Scott's pack."

The Sheriff, who up until now had been leaning against the wall and looking like he's trying not to strangle someone – although Isaac can't quite tell who the anger is directed at – steps forward. "Why leave Isaac then? Do they think he's not a threat?"

Deaton turns to him now, and Isaac does his best to look back steadily, to hide the fact that he's terrified and losing his mind and his friends and everything that's ever mattered to him. "Is that what happened, Isaac?" he asks, not unkindly. "Did the nogitsune actually let you go?"

Isaac dips his head, and then he offers up a brief account of the events that had brought him here. Mrs McCall lets out a sound that's halfway between pain and pride when he says that Allison's infected now, and the Sheriff winces when he recounts the story of how Stiles and Lydia had done it. When he's finished, there's silence, the kind of silence that pierces his heart and makes him wish that he hadn't spoken at all.

Then Mr Argent speaks, and Isaac braces himself. The hunter has never been a fan of his, and he's sure to have criticism to give. "I don't think it's like that," he says. "It doesn't sound like they've actually taken anyone out yet. They're not killing, just… manipulating. If they really weren't threatened by Isaac, they would have just gotten rid of him. But they kept him around, which must mean they think he could be useful."

Unsure whether this is meant to be a compliment, Isaac says nothing. Deaton looks troubled. Mrs McCall and the Sheriff are look at each other. And Argent looks like he's about to go on the warpath, if only he could find the start of the trail.

"Is there anything we can do?" Melissa asks, worrying her lip and turning back to the vet. "Normally I'd leave this to the kids, but…"

She leaves the sentence hanging; no elaboration necessary.

"There is something," Deaton says, but the reluctance in his voice causes tension to buzz through the room. Whatever it is, it's bad; and whatever it is, they're going to do it. "It would be very dangerous, and it would involve… Do you all remember the sacrifice that your children made when you were trapped in the Nemeton?"

Isaac watches the parents as one by one the lights flick on. They know where this is going, but they're not backing down.

"Yes," Argent says at last, the word tight, like he doesn't want to say it but he knows that somebody has to.

"This would be something similar," Deaton says delicately, and suddenly Isaac doesn't feel so safe anymore. It had been dangerous enough the first time, and he can't imagine doing it again. Everything was supposed to be better, but Beacon Hills just keeps throwing more and more chaos their way.

Mrs McCall swallows, nervous but determined. "Are you saying that we… Would we have to die?"

There's no room for lies, no time for hesitance. "Yes," he says.

The room is silent, but the rain keeps pounding on the roof. And somewhere out there, Isaac is sure the nogitsune is laughing at them.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**I love Isaac, and will never be okay with the way that he's just been a complete non-issue this season, like no one's even expressed any sense of missing him or anything (at least in the episodes I've seen). Sigh. Anyway. I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review. I'll see you next chapter, which will have some, uh, 'action'.**


	22. Insatiable

**Thank you to my few lovely loyal reviewers, your words are very much appreciated. Here's the next chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

Utter silence follows Isaac's declaration. Lydia surveys his face carefully, trying to figure out if he's joking, but it doesn't seem like he is. Nobody's laughing, for a start, and he's looking down at the ground as if he's worried of meeting anyone's eyes. Lydia's not surprised; if looks could kill, Isaac would be dead three times over.

"You want us to kill Stiles," Scott says, his words slow, and Lydia realizes he's giving Isaac a chance to change his mind. If the beta backs down, they're not going to mention it again.

But Isaac doesn't back down. Instead he raises his gaze to meet his alpha's eyes, and Lydia shares a look with Allison, both of them wondering what the hell they're going to do if the werewolves start fighting. "I know I've never been Stiles' biggest fan, but it's not about that," Isaac says earnestly. "I'm just thinking about the bigger picture here."

For some reason he looks at Allison at that point, and a shy smile slips onto her face for a second before she manages to push it away. Lydia silently asks her a question, but Allison just shakes her head almost imperceptibly and turns back to the werewolves.

"Okay." Scott's leaning back on the chair, arms folded and attention all on Isaac. "And in this bigger picture, how does killing Stiles help?"

Scott's tone is gentle, carefully not confrontational, but Lydia can see Isaac getting agitated. "I have nothing against Stiles," Isaac says, "but when he's possessed by a thousand-year-old demon who's trying to kill everyone, I think we should at least consider the possibility of killing him -"

"No." It's Kira who speaks, and all eyes turn to her in surprise. She looks a little startled but she doesn't back down. "I just mean, I don't think killing Stiles would help."

Scott flashes her a grateful look, and Kira returns the gesture with a smile – but it's nervous, because she's still not sure of her part in the pack. Lydia feels for her; she's come at such a chaotic time that it must be incredibly difficult for her to find her place. Then again, Lydia's been here the whole time and she's still questioning _her_ place too.

"There isn't much information out there about nogitsunes, and there's even less about how to kill them." Kira's voice is growing stronger, and so is the determination in her eyes. "But there's nothing to suggest that killing the host will kill the demon. My mom said it's possible that the nogitsune would see it coming and just find another host – and if we're all there at the time, it'll probably be one of us."

Until this point Lydia hasn't been aware of how fast her own heart is beating. Now she is sharply aware of it, and she notices that it _hurts_. She can't remember ever feeling like this, not the night she found her first dead body, not the night Peter attacked her on the lacrosse field, not even the night the darach tried to kill her. It's panic, but it's tinged with something else – guilt. She hadn't told anyone that the nogitsune had talked to her in the café; she hadn't told them that when she was infected, a part of her had liked it. And she's not going to tell them. She notices Scott shooting a glance her way and she digs her nails into her palm, trying to slow her heartbeat. Damn werewolves and their super senses.

"Fine," Isaac says, relenting at last. "We won't kill Stiles. But I'm not going out of my way to save him either."

This is a lie, a way to save face, and they all know it. Scott acknowledges it with a slight nod, and then, somehow, conversation turns to lighter topics. When Allison had told Lydia about this meeting, she had made it seem like it would be all warm and fuzzy – a way to reconnect, to unwind, to be a _pack_ again – but this is far from it. The meeting so far has seemed more like a war plan, but now they're relaxing. At first it's reluctant, but then it becomes more natural. Whether they like it or not, they're all part of this, and they're all connected.

Lydia doesn't contribute much, partly because she's still too wound up and partly because she's having trouble hearing everyone anyway. It's not so much a buzzing anymore as a ringing, shot through with a couple of voices that she can't identify. It had been reasonably quiet in her mind since the visit from the nogitsune, so she hadn't been expecting it to come back – and especially not so damn _loud_.

While Isaac and Scott are arguing over what they're going to have for dinner, Lydia turns to Kira and asks where the bathroom is.

"Down the hall, first door to the right," the kitsune says promptly, and she even gives Lydia a smile.

The banshee returns it briefly, and then excuses herself. She suddenly wishes she hadn't let Allison talk her into coming to this meeting, but how was she supposed to say no? Allison is as persuasive as she is threatening, and Lydia doesn't want to cross her. She tries not to remind herself that she's crossing her now, by not telling her about what had happened in the café. Allison had known that something was wrong, but Lydia had brushed it off, covering it up with a comment about how she was worried about Stiles. The hunter had seemed to buy it, which isn't surprising; everyone's worried about Stiles, worried about themselves, worried about the whole damn town.

It's a lot of things to worry about, and they're only teenagers. Lydia forgets this sometimes; it feels like they've lived for decades. But they only have decades worth of grief and enemies, and more responsibility on their shoulders than most people will have to deal with in a lifetime.

She reaches the bathroom, and as soon as she takes a step inside she realizes she's not alone. A hand clamps over her mouth, another grabs her arm and pushes her up against the wall. The door swings closed, quick but quiet, and Lydia doesn't even have time to scream.

The eyes she's looking into are painfully familiar, and so is the sensation of his skin on hers. He holds her there for a moment, a smile on his face that's almost hungry, and then, slowly, he removes his hand from her mouth. She doesn't scream; she doesn't move. She just stares into those eyes and tries to see if somewhere deep down, Stiles is still there. Before she can be sure, the nogitsune pulls back, breaking their gaze and letting his smile widen.

"Hey Lydia," he says, casual, unconcerned, as he walks around the room, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer, a razor, a bottle of pills. He pauses near the sink, looks up at her, and something inside her snaps. The voices and the ringing come to an abrupt halt and she has to stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief; she can't let him know. "Better?" he asks, but his smile makes it clear he doesn't need an answer. He knows exactly what he's doing to her.

She finds her voice at last, but she can't find it in her to move. "How did you get in here?"

He tilts his head, gives her a mocking smile. He doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter. It's not the _how_ but the _why_ that's crucial here. "Seems like a fun meeting out there," he says instead, jerking his head toward the door. "Shame I wasn't invited. I definitely could have livened it up a bit."

Lydia pales at the insinuation, but just as quickly, she realizes she's nowhere near as worried as she should be. If the nogitsune had wanted to attack the pack, he would have; there would be no better time, since they're all gathered in one place. But he's not out there wreaking havoc; he's in here doing something so much worse. Lydia's heart twists and her breath hitches and she can't even think about trying to escape. All she can think is _It's not Stiles _over and over again, because if she stops thinking that then she knows she's going to think something even more dangerous. _I don't care._

The nogitsune approaches her now, and she finally remembers to move. She takes a couple of steps before her back hits the wall, and the nogitsune takes a couple of steps until he's right in front of her. For a moment he just looks at her, and she thinks she can see a hint of the real Stiles, something flickering in the back of his eyes – not lust or obsession but _affection_. And then it's gone and his lips are pressed against hers and she's so surprised she doesn't pull away.

Her mind is quiet, but her heart definitely makes up for it. It's all she can hear, and Stiles is all she can taste, and it's all she can do not to moan. She hates herself for it, but she's imagined this moment before – with Stiles, of course with Stiles, but he's not here and the nogitsune is and he made it quiet in her head and she can't turn her back on that. She needs the release, the relief, the _silence_.

The kiss deepens, surprisingly gentle, and for a second she kisses back. That simple action changes everything. Stiles – the nogitsune – seems to take it as a cue, and he presses his body against hers, pins her arms to her sides, swipes his tongue inside her mouth like he's trying to take possession of her. Suddenly painfully aware that this isn't Stiles, Lydia pulls back.

Or at least she tries to. The nogitsune is stronger than Stiles ever was, and he holds her in place while he continues the assault on her mouth and her heart, because she knows she should be fighting this more, she knows she should have called for help the moment she saw him, but instead she's standing here helpless and letting him devour her.

Abruptly, he breaks off. Steps back. Gives her a look that's equal parts longing and amusement. The latter wins out and he chuckles. "What a rush," he says, and then he rests his palms against the door, one on either side of Lydia's shoulders, and he leans his head toward her and looks down and lets out a slow, satisfied sigh. "Stiles liked it too."

At the mention of Stiles – the real Stiles, not the trickster in his place – she comes back to herself, but it's too late. She feels connected to the nogitsune now, like an invisible string is tying them together, and sooner or later it's going to strangle her. But the closer she gets to him, the more it loosens. And when she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him, it feels like she can breathe.

And then she can't breathe because there's no time, no room, it's all passion and roaming hands and gentle moans and she loses herself in him. This time she pulls back and he doesn't try to stop her; he knows she's not going to fight.

"Do you know what I could do to you?" he asks, his lips brushing against her ear and then roaming down, planting a trail of kisses down her neck and smiling against her skin as she shivers with delight. "You should be scared," he says, pressing his lips to her collarbone, gently scraping with his teeth, but it's not a warning; it's a joke.

"I know." She feels him shift toward her, covering her body with hers, so she's pressed against him and she can't move, not that she would want to because this feels unbearably _right_. "I'm not scared," she mumbles into his shoulder. "I want…"

He pulls back so he can look her in the eyes, and she knows it's a mistake but she meets his gaze anyway. Her heart melts, freezes, melts again, and she loses all sense of self. Who she is doesn't matter; the nogitsune can shape her, mould her, _use_ her, and she's not going to stop him. She can't. She's dimly aware that he's done something, but she can't tell if it's seduction or magic or something else entirely, and she doesn't even care.

"What do you want?" he asks, the edges of his mouth quirking up as he looks at his newest conquest. (She doesn't have to say it, because they both already know: he won, she lost, and there's no point in resisting anymore.)

"I want…" She hesitates, closes her eyes, tries again. She can't look at him when she says this, can't bear to see the triumph in his eyes. "I want to go with you."

He doesn't answer, not until she opens her eyes. Triumph makes his eyes bright, and excitement flushes his cheeks. This is what he wanted all along, then. "All in good time, little banshee," he croons, and she hates the way her heart skips a beat as he says it. He glances at the door, evidently aware that the pack will be waiting for her return, and then he shifts his focus back to her. "You should go back to your pack."

She doesn't move, even though a few minutes ago that was the very thing she wanted most.

His smile is almost tender, like he understands the conflict raging in her mind. "I'll come back," he says, not touching her anymore but still somehow pinning her to the spot. Magic or seduction; it doesn't matter. She's his now.

She tries to open her mouth to tell him not to come back, to take back the traitorous thing she said, but what she says is, "I'll be waiting."

The nogitsune catches her in one last kiss, and she doesn't resist. Then he slips past her, opens the door, and walks brazenly out into the hall. Lydia waits for a shout of discovery, for sounds of battle, but there's just the sound of the front door and the gentle murmur of voices from the living room. She should go back to the group, but something stops her.

It's a realization. It's terrifying. It's liberating.

She's not part of the pack anymore.

She's with the nogitsune now.

And somehow that feels right.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Next chapter is one of my absolute favorites, even though you all are going to hate it because it's _horrible_. You'll see. Anyway. Review away, and I'll try to have the next chapter up soon.**


	23. More bad than good

**I'm not sure if interest is dwindling or people just aren't reviewing anymore, but I hope I haven't lost any of you. If you're out there, review, and I'll try to update again quickly.**

**Warning for this chapter: violence that will make you cringe and angst that will make your heart break.**

**Enjoy. ;)**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Scott doesn't need to be told he's dying. He doesn't need Lydia's scream or the nogitsune's smirk to tell him that. He can feel it in his bones, in every ragged breath he takes, in every feeble beat of his heart. He's only been here a day or two, or so logic tells him, but his mind tries to tell him otherwise. In the darkness it's not hard to imagine that he's been here forever, that there's nothing beyond the walls and his entire life has been in the space of this room. And either way, his life is going to end here.

Nobody has been to visit him in hours. The last person had been Allison, but he hasn't seen her since the 'new' Allison took over and marched her right back up the stairs. He almost wishes that she hadn't fought back, because it hurts even more to have seen a glimpse of her only to have lost her again. She's gone again, and he's alone. His pack, which he'd tried so hard to protect, has splintered. The nogitsune took Stiles, and Stiles took Lydia, and Lydia took Allison. It sounds like together they took Isaac out – he may not be dead, but it doesn't sound like he'll be a threat to them. That only really leaves Kira, but chances are that she's too new to be able to save them all. It won't stop her from trying, but it might just get her killed.

The basement is cold and dark, and it makes all of Scott's limbs feel heavy, makes his heart beat slower, makes every moment last longer and hurt more. He's not entirely sure, but he thinks they might have done something to him, something beyond just kidnapping him – although that had been bad enough. He wouldn't be this lethargic if they'd just hit him, so it must be something magical. Wolfsbane would be his first guess, but it's the nogitsune so all bets are off. And if it's wolfsbane – or something worse – then he probably doesn't have much time left.

He shifts his position, trying to relieve the aching in his muscles, but he knows it's no good. Scott shuts his eyes to try to block out the worst of the pain, but that does little either. It's seeping into him, through his skin and into his lungs, so that he's breathing in the scent of his own death. He's never been so weak, so vulnerable, so utterly unable to do a thing to help himself. He doubts he could stand by this point, even if his life depended on it. And it's not just the physical pain, although that's unpleasant enough. It's a searing emotional pain that comes and goes in sharp bursts, an occasional but intense reminder that he failed his pack, and that he can't fight the nogitsune. And even if he could fight, he couldn't win.

Hours pass, and then more, and then the door opens. Scott stiffens, but he can't move out of the way. His eyes are trained on the slowly swinging door, and then on the two people entering the room. He can tell who they are from their scents, although that's still a strange sensation. They smell like Lydia and Stiles – almost. There's something off about them, a sharp tang, like the nogitsune's magic has tainted them somehow.

He manages to shuffle back into the corner, even though it won't do anything. He can't stop them from doing whatever they're going to do. He couldn't stop them when it was just Stiles, or when Lydia was only just falling into darkness, and he sure as hell can't stop them when it's both of them against him. But he can't stop trying; he's the alpha, and he needs to do something.

The door slams closed, and the light disappears immediately. Then another light flicks on, one right overhead, so bright that Scott squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop the ringing in his ears. His senses all overlap, tangling up in each other so that physical pain produces images he can see, and sounds manifest as jabs against his skin. This whole situation is, for lack of a better word, _torturous_.

"Hey, Scotty," says a voice that sounds like his best friend's, but it's not him.

There's the sound of footsteps – two sets, one spritely and cheerful, the other lighter but more reserved – and then nothing. Scott opens his eyes, and Stiles and Lydia are standing in front of him. Only they're not, because it's not really them and he's not even sure his friends are still alive. He notices that something's different, but he can't quite figure out what. Then Lydia walks over to Stiles, wraps a lazy arm around his waist, and Scott knows that something in her has changed. He just doesn't know what.

"How are you feeling?" the nogitsune asks, and it almost sounds like he cares. When Scott doesn't answer, he laughs. "You're probably a little tired. Wolfsbane'll do that to you."

So that's that. They've poisoned him, and if that's not fatal, he has a feeling they'll take care of him anyway. He almost wishes they would just deal with him now, because it was bad enough to watch Stiles and Lydia slip away, but now he's losing himself too, and he can't handle that. He can't let himself fall like this. It's not meant to be like this; he's meant to fight, but how is he supposed to do that when he can't even look his enemies in the eye?

"He's quiet," Lydia observes, her voice softer than expected and more sensual than usual. "I don't like it."

"You wanna hear the wolf howl?" Stiles murmurs to her, turning his face to her so that the tip of his nose brushes her hair. He inhales, closes his eyes, and then looks sideways at Scott. "We can do that. How do you want to start?"

Lydia doesn't answer, but a slow smile spreads across her face; not like bursting sunshine, the way it used to be, but like mould, something that ruins an otherwise beautiful image. She crouches down in front of Scott, and he starts to ask her what she's doing but then he doesn't need to. Because she does it.

Pain explodes down Scott's arm and he jerks it away from her, biting back the howl that rises in his throat. He won't give them the satisfaction, even though the pain is almost too much to bear. He slips back into his mind to block out the world, but the pain gets in through the cracks and taps against his consciousness and demands that he pay attention to it. He swims back to the surface and focuses on the outside world again. His arm is broken; Lydia had snapped it almost in half. It will heal, of course, but not soon enough. The wolfsbane is taking its toll, and he's too weak to heal himself.

Terror pulses through him as he remembers what Lydia had said when she knocked him out. _I'm not possessed. _How could he not have noticed that a member of his pack had such dark desires, such a capacity for evil? Stiles is possessed, and he's not in control of his actions. But Lydia, she's always in control. She'd said it herself, she's not possessed, which means she's doing this herself. He'd known she'd turned against the pack, but somehow he had never quite let himself believe that she had turned against _him_.

She returns to Stiles, and the two share a kiss that makes Scott sick to the stomach. Everything about this is wrong; his whole body aches and his broken bone screams and he can't stand, can't run, can't fight. He can't stop his best friends from destroying him. It occurs to him that Allison isn't here, and wonders if it's because she told the others that she'd slipped up. Maybe they decided it was too risky letting her be around him, since he'd somehow triggered a change earlier. He had brought back Allison, their Allison, and she had been herself for a moment. If he can get close to her, maybe he can do it again.

But he can't get through to Lydia or Stiles. He doesn't even know if Stiles can hear him. The nogitsune keeps telling Scott that Stiles is dead, but he doesn't believe it; he can't. He would know if Stiles was dead. If he focuses, he can tell whether his packmates are hurt or lost or scared or –

– trapped.

That's what he's missing. He ignores the pain in his arm and sits up straight, and this gets Lydia's attention. She looks at him, her eyes narrowing and her smile fading.

"What did he do to you?" Scott asks, flicking his eyes over to Stiles before returning his gaze to Lydia.

She doesn't look away, and slowly her smile returns. "We may have underestimated you," she says, and she sounds genuinely pleased. "Maybe you're not as hopeless as we thought."

Something falls into place in Scott's mind, and he doesn't know whether he's more relieved or terrified. "You're not Lydia," he says, and her smile is enough of a confirmation.

"No, sweetheart, I'm not." She's still crouching in front of him, and she leans forward. Scott flinches, bracing himself for another blow, but all she does is let her lips brush against his ear as she whispers, "Lydia is long gone."

She pulls away to go back to Stiles, and Scott understands what's going on. She hadn't been possessed before, but she is now. "How?" he asks, addressing his words to Stiles now rather than Lydia.

Stiles smirks. "I'm not the only nogitsune around," he says smugly. "Your little stunt with the triple sacrifice paved a way for more of my kind to come through. There are thousands of us, Scott. And you can't stop any of us."

It's true, of course, but Scott can't let them know how broken he is. He's fought alphas and druids and all manner of supernatural creatures, but nothing has ever been as hard as what he does now. He stands up. Slowly, painfully, every inch a new form of agony, but eventually he makes it to his feet. Stiles seems mildly surprised, and Lydia is still amused. Neither of them consider him a threat, and they're probably right; but he's still not giving up.

"I can help you," he says, his voice caught somewhere between a plea and a promise. "Stiles, I know you're in there. You can fight this. You can _win_."

Stiles – the thing that looks like him – laughs again, a harsh sound that makes Scott's skin crawl. "He can hear you, you know," Stiles tells him. He looks to the side suddenly, his expression serious, and then he turns back to Scott, a messenger. "He wants you to know he's sorry."

That simple sentence breaks Scott's heart, which is strange because he thought it had broken long ago. How can he have a heart left to break, after all he's been through and all he's lost and thrown away? "It's not your fault," he says, looking in eyes that glimmer with darkness, but he's speaking beyond that, to his brother who's trapped somewhere beneath the murky surface. "Stiles, it's okay. You can do this. You can come back."

Lydia – the demon who looks like her – feigns sympathy. "He's not coming back, Scott. And neither is Lydia."

"They're gone," Stiles agrees, as casual as if they were discussing the weather. "They're as good as dead."

"Worse than dead," Lydia says with a giggle, wrapping her arm once more around Stiles' waist; they fit together perfectly, like lock and key or two pieces of a puzzle. Like a bow and arrow, one that will tear Scott apart.

Scott's legs are shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and he can feel the wolfsbane coursing through his blood, but he doesn't move. "Please," he says again. "Stiles. Lydia. You can fight this."

There's a knock at the door; Allison pushes it open and beckons to the others. Then she disappears, the door swinging closed and leaving an echoing silence.

Stiles turns his back on Scott, a clear taunt. "Playtime's over, wolfie," he says, heading for the door.

Lydia lingers for a moment more, something unreadable in her eyes. She's not uncertain as such, but she's curious, and that might be a start.

Scott addresses his last appeal to her, even though part of him knows that he's already lost. "If you stop trying to hurt me," he says quietly, "maybe I can save you."

Lydia considers him, calculating, her natural coldness not tempered by a spark of light in her eyes or a friendly word on her lips. "There's nothing left to save," she says at last, and then she turns on her heel and follows Stiles up the stairs.

Scott waits until they're out of sight before he slumps against the wall, letting out a groan that rattles in his chest. His whole body hurts, but it doesn't hurt anywhere near as much as the knowledge that he might not be able to save his best friends. Heck, he can't even save himself.

He cries himself to sleep that night.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Sorry not sorry. I warned you.**

**Don't forget to review; the more I see people are reading the story, the more motivated I'll be to update. See you all soon, I hope.**


	24. Illuminated

**If you like it enough to follow/fav, you like it enough to review. I live for your feedback, so don't let me down guys. Enjoy the chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

It's almost too easy. At first Stiles had fought back – oh god, had he tried to fight. He'd screamed and begged and cried in turns, and the nogitsune just laughed. He knew he'd chosen the right host. The others in the pack would have perhaps been more powerful, but they would have been harder to break. Then again, it hadn't been all that difficult to break Lydia. He has the banshee wrapped around his little finger, and he's not going to let her go. But he'd made a deal, and he'll see it through. He just neglected to mention the fine print – that the only way to keep Lydia safe was for her to join him. He's going to take down the pack, after all – the powerhouse of Beacon Hills, the foremost authority on the supernatural and defenders of the helpless – and anyone who stands in his way will be struck down. Swiftly.

Even so, he's not sure he would be able to take Lydia down. It's not just that she's attractive (although he is well aware of that fact), but she's something else, something undefinable but intriguing. On the surface she's distant, almost detached, but he's seen her around the pack; he's heard the way Stiles talks about her. Once she gets an idea in her mind, she doesn't let it go. There's a fire in her eyes that both inspires and worries the nogitsune – she, perhaps more than the others, has the potential to ruin him. She's the smartest of the group, and the one most likely to figure him out. So he either has to snuff the fire out, or set it burning out of control.

Stiles has made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear. Under no circumstances is the nogitsune to hurt Lydia. And because the nogitsune had agreed – it was the only way he could think to subdue Stiles enough for him to be able to move on with his plan – he follows that rule. He's not hurting Lydia, not really. He is changing her, though, moulding her into something more… useful.

A few days after their encounter at the kitsune's house, he waits for her after school. She comes out of the building alone, which is not surprising. But a moment later she's joined by Isaac and Allison, who flank her on either side and walk her to her car. Either they don't trust her or they're worried about her, and either way, it works for the nogitsune. He watches from the shadows as the hunter and the werewolf lead Lydia to her car, and wait until she's driven off. Then the pair get on Isaac's bike and follow the banshee, at a safe distance; Stiles suspects that they don't want Lydia to know that she's being tailed, but he's sure she does know anyway. Not much gets past that girl.

Stiles waits for a few minutes and then starts after them in a car he appropriated from the nearest dealership. (He will return it, assuming it doesn't get destroyed in all the chaos.) He doesn't need to be able to see Lydia to know where she's going; they're connected now, and he would be able to find her anywhere. And even if he couldn't, Stiles can. He hadn't realized it before, but Stiles and Lydia are connected as well – they're each other's anchors. They don't know just how important that is, but the nogitsune does. He just needs to find a way to use it to his advantage.

Lydia goes straight home, and when Stiles gets there, Isaac and Allison are standing on her doorstep. He can tell that she's frustrated and wants to be left alone, but either the others don't get the hint or they choose to ignore it. Finally Lydia manages to persuade them to leave, but they go separately. Isaac departs on his bike, and Allison walks. Stiles waits until both of them are out of sight, and then he steps out of the car.

He says her name softly, the word carried on the wind, and it taps on her window and a moment later she's appearing at the door. She's ditched the ridiculous outfit she had on at school – some flower-patterned knee-high dress which looks like it cost more than the Sheriff earns in a year – and is wearing something simpler, a sensible ruffled blue skirt and a plain white blouse, but somehow she looks even better. Stiles – the nogitsune – licks his lips, and the real Stiles screams. He's always screaming these days.

Lydia sees him, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then crosses the road. She stops in front of him, looks him up and down, and makes a decision. He can see her eyes darken, see the fire turn black, and then she smiles. The smile isn't friendly, exactly, but it's also not nervous. If anything it's confused, like she's not sure what she's doing out here but can't quite bring herself to go back inside.

"I told you I'd come back," he says, waiting for her to cross the remaining space between them. There's almost a foot between them, a space filled with questions and promises and lies, and Lydia's sifting through them, deciding which ones she wants to let in and which ones she'll try to keep out.

She picks one, holds it close, and lowers her eyes. "You came for me," she says, and in her words is a deeper meaning, a hint of surprise mixed with relief, and the unspoken words _And I waited for you._

He can feel her pulling back, realizing this isn't a good idea, knowing she should go back to her house, to her pack, to her life, but instead she chooses him. Part of him had been convinced she wouldn't, that she would fight through his magic and turn her back on him, but she hasn't. And it's not because she's too weak to fight – it's because she doesn't want to. It doesn't matter how small that part is; as long as it's there, his magic will keep working. He just has to hope she doesn't realize that she has the power to push him out at any time, to close her mind and her heart and force him away.

His choice of host is suddenly very beneficial. His magic works best with some level of physical contact – his hand on their shoulder, his lips on theirs, his fingers drifting lazily up their arm. And with Lydia it had almost been too easy. She knows he's not Stiles, but part of her would rather believe in a fairytale than face the cold truth. Pretending that he is Stiles, the real Stiles, soothes her, and who is he to stand in the way of that?

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, and waits for her to move first. This is the critical point in his plan – if Lydia pulls away now, he might not be able to pull her back. And he can't lose her, so at best he would have to kill her. God, Stiles would be _insufferable_. As long as the banshee's alive, Stiles has his moments of being compliant. But he's made it clear that the second Lydia dies, all bets are off. The nogitsune doesn't believe that Stiles can fight him off, exactly, but he could make life a lot more difficult. It's better to just play along for now.

Lydia looks down at her hands, twists them, folds her arms. She glances back at the house, then fixes her gaze on Stiles. He can see in her eyes that she's wondering whether to lie to herself. She's already made her decision; she's coming with him. But she's trying to work out which motivation she's going to use to justify it. She could pretend to be selfless, trying to go undercover to save her friends. She could blame it on her heart, say she was confused and that she wanted to be with Stiles. Or she could be honest – something that Stiles tells him she's never been good at – and admit that part of her is fascinated with the darkness, and that she just wants this to end.

She chooses silence and chaos, and she turns her back on her friends. She doesn't say anything, she makes no public declarations, but he knows that her heart has changed. She's not with the pack anymore; she's with him.

She crosses the space, swishing through the lies and promises, and she embraces him. He kisses her and she doesn't hold back, and he can feel his hold on her tightening. His magic is wrapped around her heart, and the banshee doesn't even try to fight it.

"Come on," he says when the kiss ends, but he can still taste her on his lips and it's unbearably sweet. (Stiles is screaming again but it's just pleasant meaningless background noise.)

"Where are we going?" Lydia slides her hand into Stiles' and lets him lead her down the street. She doesn't sound apprehensive in the slightest; she's full of innocent curiosity, and he knows she'd follow him anywhere. He wonders if she knows that he's not even persuading her to do this – he's reined his magic in, so this decision is almost entirely hers.

"You'll see," he says, and out of the corner of his eyes he notices the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips. He can feel excitement tingling through her, and it's doing the same to him. It's intoxicating, and he knows it's not all him – it's Stiles too. Oh, Stiles is screaming of course, but a part of him – a part that the nogitsune suspects Stiles thinks is hidden from him – is thrilled. He finally got the girl, and he's not even in control of his own body. The nogitsune smirks; this is too good.

He and Lydia walk hand-in-hand down the street. She doesn't look back, just keeps her gaze on the horizon and her hand in his, and his mind races. Now that Lydia's on his side, he can do so much more. She'll do whatever he wants her to, and it will be useful to have an accomplice. And maybe she'll be good for other things too.

They've gone a couple of blocks – walking, because they're unhurried, and because Stiles is secretly hoping to run into the pack and show off his latest conquest – when he becomes aware of the fact that someone is tailing them. Lydia hasn't noticed yet, so he doesn't say anything, but he knows who it is.

For a hunter, she's not very stealthy.

About a block away from his hideout, Stiles decides to do something. He doesn't want Allison finding out where they're going, because then she'd bring the pack and he'd have to kill them all. Not that this matters greatly – he's going to do it anyway, after all – but it's sooner than he would like, and he hasn't finished having fun yet. He sends Lydia on ahead, and she doesn't question it. She doesn't look back either.

Stiles slips into the trees on the side of the sidewalk, and he waits. Less than a minute later, Allison walks past. She's after Lydia, of course, not him, so she's caught by surprise when he steps out in front of her with a disapproving look on his face. He's disappointed, actually; he'd expected more from the hunter.

She freezes, and then she reaches for her bag. Before her fingers even touch the zip, Stiles has her up against a tree, his arm pressed against her throat so that she can hardly breathe. She stares up at him, her breath ragged but her eyes blazing.

"What did you do to her?" she snarls.

Stiles laughs, releasing her. He steps away and she slumps back, rubbing her throat and shooting daggers at him. (She would be throwing daggers at him if she wasn't so aware that he could kill her with a simple flick of the wrist.) "I didn't do anything," he says. "You saw it, didn't you? She chose to come with me. You've lost her, Allison."

"No." The word slips between gritted teeth and falls short. Stiles kicks it away as he steps to her again, his face inches from hers. She doesn't step back, doesn't even blink. He considers killing her – it would be so easy – but decides against it. Not yet; her time will come.

"Keep fighting, little hunter," he breathes against her skin, letting his words trail across her cheek. "That will only make it hurt more."

Then he turns and walks away. He can hear her behind him, trying to decide whether it's worth launching an attack anyway, but she doesn't move. Maybe Scott ordered her not to take him out, or maybe she just knows it would be useless. She's not suicidal, not yet anyway, so she stays where she is and he walks away.

He meets up with Lydia, who greets him with a smile, and they link hands again and keep walking.

Yes, this is going to be a lot of fun.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review so I know you're still reading, and I'll see you all soon.**


	25. Heart monitor

**Pretend this is a witty AN. Enjoy the chapter, wolflets.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Since the Sheriff first heard about the supernatural – since his son had laid it all out for him on a chessboard and quietly talked him through each of the color-coded pieces – he's had to change almost everything about the way he lives. Every thought is second-guessed, every instinct examined, because he knows there are things out there in the dark – but he still doesn't understand just what. Werewolves, kanimas, druids, banshees; he's got all that down. But just when he thinks he's starting to get the hang of it all, something else gets thrown into the mix. This time it's a nogitsune. An ancient demon that, for unfathomable reasons, has decided to take over Stiles.

At first the Sheriff had thought it was a strange choice of host. Surely he would have been better going after one of the wolves, who are full of their own supernatural skills and would probably have been more formidable than Stiles. Of course these logical thoughts had been preceded by a flood of emotional ones, mostly revolving around the question of _why_ it had to be Stiles, and _what_ the Sheriff had done or hadn't done to land them in this mess. When Scott had told him about the nogitsune, he'd assured the Sheriff that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have known and couldn't have stopped it, but Scott doesn't understand.

He doesn't have a child; he doesn't know what it's like. He doesn't lie awake at night thinking of the missed opportunities, the failures, the times when he could have been a better parent. He doesn't know what it's like to look into the eyes of your child and realize that somewhere along the way you let them down, and to wonder if you pushed them away by holding them too close.

These thoughts are what keep the Sheriff silent as Argent and Deaton discuss the technicalities of the proposed double sacrifice. The Sheriff sinks down into the nearest seat, not far from Isaac, who's leaning back with a pained expression on his face, like every breath is an effort and every second is agony. The Sheriff, familiar with this feeling, offers Isaac a reassuring smile which he doesn't see. And he finds himself thinking about how far he had pushed Stiles.

When Stiles had told him about the supernatural, it had seemed impossible. How could he be sheriff of an entire town and not notice that it's overrun with werewolves? It had been easier not to believe, not to let him even entertain the possibility that any of it might be true, but what he hadn't realized was that in doing so, he had betrayed his son. Stiles had all but begged him to understand, had even claimed that Claudia would have believed him (that had been like an arrow straight through the Sheriff's heart, and he's still pulling splinters out), and still he hadn't believed. Not until he absolutely had to, until all his senses were assaulted with incontrovertible proof.

He thinks Stiles hasn't quite forgiven him for that, and he doesn't blame him. He'd let his son down, and it hadn't been the first or the last time, and if he can't make up for it now then he's never going to get a chance. If he's honest, he's never really forgiven himself for it either.

He's aware of Melissa beside him, even though they're not touching. She's focused on Argent and Deaton, her expression serious and her arms folded across her chest. She looks vulnerable, small, and he wants to wrap her up in his arms, but a second later she interjects with a sharp phrase – not harsh but sceptical, curious, ever observant and unwilling to overlook even the smallest detail. He finds himself getting lost in the details of her face – the curve of her lips, the color of her eyes, the way a single curl of hair falls down onto her forehead and she makes no move to brush it away.

After a while he tunes back in, realizing that he needs to be a part of this. He's more a part of it than anyone, in fact, because it's his son who's possessed and he's supposed to be the one to put a stop to all of this (it's his town damn it and he'd pledged to protect it), but everything seems darker and harder than it used to be. He stands up and addresses the others. "If we're going to do this, the sooner the better," he says, and to his surprise his voice is steady, sturdy, like he's the kind of guy who can lead the charge into battle and put his emotions aside so that he won't be crippled by the weight of losing his son to a demonic possession.

"I agree," Argent says, nodding his head toward the Sheriff.

"I'm still confused," Melissa says, glancing at all of them before turning to Deaton last of all. "The kids did a triple sacrifice to find us when the – what was it, a darach? Is that what they called it? – kidnapped us. They took our places and astrally tracked us down. Was that the gist of it?"

"Essentially, yes." Deaton pulls a book from the small shelf by his side and spreads it out on the counter. The others approach – all except for Isaac, who seems frozen to the spot – and look at the pages. "It's not a spell that many recommend," Deaton says carefully, pointing to the name splashed across the page; it's in Latin, something so complicated that the Sheriff can barely read it, let alone attempt to understand it. "Stiles and Lydia aren't lost, exactly, but they are trapped – and that's effectively the same thing. So to be able to find them, you have to become entirely lost as well."

"We have to lose our lives," the Sheriff says, but the prospect isn't as alarming as it should be.

"Temporarily," Deaton says, and mutters something that sounds like _hopefully_. Then he raises his gaze and encompasses all of them again. "The ritual would allow you to enter a kind of limbo, and from there you would be able to close the metaphorical doors that Scott and the others opened when they went under."

_Cleaning up their mess,_ the Sheriff thinks, but it's unfair and he knows it. He doesn't know how many times the kids must have saved them, and it's about time they started to repay the favor. "How many of us?" he finds himself asking.

Deaton looks mildly surprised, and he closes the book and sets it back in its rightful place before he responds. "Only two of you," he says at last. "It's just Lydia and Stiles who are lost, so there would need to be one for each of them."

"What about Scott?" Melissa asks worriedly, and the Sheriff takes half a step closer to her, not really expecting anything but wanting to offer comfort. She shifts away from him, almost imperceptibly, like she's trying to make it seem like she's not falling apart, but then she crumbles – just slightly, silently – and leans against him. He doesn't put his arm around her, knowing that she needs to let herself be strong, but he can tell she appreciates the unspoken concern.

"Scott is missing," Deaton says, "but he's not gone yet. Neither is Allison. Stiles and Lydia are too far gone for anything else to reach them, and we need to close the doors and get them back before anything else happens."

Nobody questions how he knows this; it doesn't seem right to question him. Where the others are all hanging on by a thread, Deaton seems like he's stitching the threads back together, pulling everyone together so that they can understand the bigger picture they all fit into. It's understood that the Sheriff will be part of the sacrifice, and it's one he's willing to make. That leaves one place, and he's suddenly terrified that Melissa will volunteer.

And of course, she does.

Almost as quickly, Argent steps forward. He's not meretricious, not feigning nobility; he's just doing what he thinks is right, and the Sheriff respects that. The only problem is that he's still not sure this is right, because he's still new to the supernatural and even so he thinks that temporarily killing themselves seems like a rather drastic measure. Then again, his son has been taken over by a homicidal Japanese demon so maybe it's not so much of a stretch.

Melissa is still leaning against him, so that the Sheriff can feel her heartbeat, can tell how terrified she is, but she doesn't back down. "It might be safer for you to stay here," she says diplomatically. "That way if anything goes wrong, you and Deaton can handle it."

"That's exactly why I think you should stay behind," Argent responds. "If we come back – and it's an _if_, not a _when_ – we might need medical attention. That's more your area than mine."

Melissa's eyes flick toward Deaton. "I'm sure you'll be in capable hands should anything happen."

The Sheriff steps forward, steps in, steps up. "It makes sense for Argent to come with me," he says, and he catches a glimpse of something in Melissa's eyes – something that makes him think of words like _traitor_ and _betrayal_. "Stiles is my kid, so I'm going in. And Argent knows more about the supernatural than you and me combined, so once we get in there, I'm counting on him to take the lead."

Before Melissa can object further, Deaton intervenes. "I agree with the Sheriff," he says, causing Melissa to scowl ever so slightly, but she doesn't say anything. "I think the two of them will be best equipped to handle whatever happens on the other side, and in the meantime you and I have work to do here."

"What about me?" The ragged voice makes the group turn as one to the speaker. Isaac is standing now, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast, but his words ring with determination.

The Sheriff hasn't had much to do with Isaac, except for when he was investigating what happened with his father, but he feels bad for the kid. Isaac's had it rough, and it had seemed like things were getting better when he joined Scott's pack – but now there's no pack to speak of and Beacon Hills is falling into darkness. And here they are, the last line of defense, a few scared parents and a teenage werewolf.

"There is actually something you can do," Deaton says, and Isaac's gaze snaps up to his face. "For the ritual to work, we need something that belongs to them – to Lydia and Stiles. Can you get that?"

"Yeah." The idea of making himself useful seems to bring some life back into the young werewolf, but he's still rather listless as he departs.

This just leaves the four adults, who stay silent because anything they say will only make the moment worse. The Sheriff and Argent help Deaton prepare the ice baths, and he talks them through the process while they do it. Melissa watches from the corner, chewing on her thumbnail. When the baths are prepared and the explanations have faded away, the Sheriff and Melissa go into the next room, leaving Argent and Deaton to wait for Isaac's return.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Melissa starts pacing. She abandons all pretence of control, not even pretending that she's remotely okay with this situation. The Sheriff is as startled as he is honored – she must trust him, to let herself be so open. He won't betray that trust; he'll save their kids, if it's the last thing he does.

She stops pacing suddenly and turns to him, and she has tears in her eyes. "This is crazy," she says, with a nervous laugh like she's still half-hoping she might wake up to find out that this has all been a horrible dream. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It'll work," he says, stepping closer. He takes her hands in his and looks into her eyes, and even though she's crying she leans forward and kisses him, and it's all terrified passion and desperate longing and it's over too soon because Isaac's knocking at the door and it's time to die.

As Melissa stands beside him at the foot of the tub, he tries to tell her what he's been meaning to let her know for months, something that he hasn't quite been able to express through physical contact alone. He needs to tell her that he cares about her, that he wants to help her, that he would do anything for her.

But he doesn't need to, because she knows. Of course she knows.

"Don't say it," she says, and she cuts his words off with another kiss. When she pulls away her lips linger near his and she says softly, "Don't say goodbye. You're coming back."

Her eyes light a fire inside him, and he keeps it close as he submerges himself in the ice-cold water, as Melissa holds him under and he forces himself not to fight. Some things are worth fighting for, and some things are worth giving up the fight. And this is worth the sacrifice, because even as the fire licks away the darkness in his heart and the water leaches the warmth from his skin, he finally knows what he's willing to die for.

He just hopes to god he doesn't have to prove it.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Reviews would be lovely.**


	26. Tattoo

**Thanks for the reviews, enjoy the chapter, etc.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

Two long minutes pass. Allison knows this because she's counting – not in seconds but in words. The same phrase manifests itself in different ways, over and over again. _Lydia went with Stiles. Lydia's with the nogitsune. Lydia and Stiles left together_. She should have shot him when she had the chance, but of course she couldn't. Somewhere deep inside, he's still Stiles, and even if Scott hadn't explicitly told the pack that hurting Stiles was not an option, Allison still wouldn't consider it – not seriously, anyway. Still, her hand slips into her backpack and she pulls out her dagger, tucks it into her pocket, wraps her hand around the hilt. Just in case.

With her free hand she flips open her phone and types a message. _Pack meeting. My house. Now_. She presses Send, looks at the recipients, and realizes her mistake. She'd sent it to everyone, like she always does, but now some of the people she'd sent it to aren't members of the pack. Stiles and Lydia aren't on their side anymore, and she'd forgotten; she hopes she always forgets, that she never gets used to it, because the moment she accepts it will be the moment she gives up. She won't resign herself to this. She'll fight; she'll get them back.

_Actually make that Scott's house_, she types, and sends that message to Scott, Isaac, and Kira. The nogitsune probably still has Stiles' phone, and she doesn't want him knowing where they're meeting. Part of her realizes that it doesn't matter, because if he wanted to kill them he would probably go ahead and do it anyway. She has no doubt that he's keeping an eye on them, watching them, mapping their every move and waiting for the time to strike. Still, no use making it too easy for him.

All three of her friends reply within a minute, agreeing to the meeting. Scott is the only one who asks what it's about, but she doesn't answer. She just shoves her phone into her bag and starts running. As her feet pound against the pavement she falls into a steady rhythm – but not exactly a comfortable one, because she's out of shape. Since she and her father had decided to step out of the world of the supernatural, they'd ceased training, and even though she still does occasional practice on her own, she's not at her sharpest or strongest. Even now, when they're both firmly committed to the fight, she hasn't quite managed to force herself back into the routine. She makes a promise to herself: when this is all over, she's going to redouble her training.

She makes sure she thinks _when_ and not _if_, because losing is not an option. It never has been, and now there's so much more at stake. (It seems like she's always thinking there's never been more at stake, and yet somehow every evil threatens them in a new way and they end up with more to lose. They haven't lost it all yet, but every day that's a real possibility.)

By the time she reaches Scott's house her legs are aching and her chest is burning but she doesn't care; she doesn't care about anything except the fact that _Lydia went with Stiles_. The thought echoes in her mind as she knocks on the door, and she's sure it's written on her face when Scott throws the door open and ushers her inside. She realizes she's shaking, and it's not just from the run. In the back of her mind she sees the look in Stiles' eyes when he'd told her to keep fighting; when he'd told her that it was going to hurt. And when, without any words, he had told her that that's exactly what he wanted.

Kira's already here, and she greets Allison with a tense smile. Allison's heart drops, suddenly convinced that Kira's serious expression is because she's discovered something horrible too, something so unspeakably awful that she doesn't even want to let them know that she knows it. But the kitsune doesn't say anything, and Allison takes her place beside her. Scott disappears up the stairs to fetch Isaac.

Allison looks down at her hands, then up at Kira, then lets her gaze drift around the room, resting briefly on random things – a vase, a photo frame, a book lying crookedly on the edge of the table – before it flits away, dragonfly-quick. Everything in here reminds her of Stiles and Lydia. There's the stain on the floor from the time Stiles had spilled a glass of wine and then tried to clean it up with the silk tablecloth; there's the painting hanging on the wall that Lydia adjusts every time she walks into the room, because somehow it always manages to become crooked again. This is their house almost as much as it is Scott's, and it doesn't feel right to be here without them.

Everything feels wrong, and for the first time in her life, Allison has no idea how to even begin to fix it.

"Where's Lydia?" Kira asks, evidently trying to make polite conversation, but the words are like a knife through Allison's heart.

She doesn't notice that she'd flinched until she feels Kira's hand on her shoulder, steady, reassuring, heartbreaking because _she doesn't know_. In about a minute Scott and Isaac will waltz down the stairs and Allison will have to tell them that they've now lost not one but two of their friends – and to a demon that they released. They know it was the power they gave back to the Nemeton that allowed the nogitsune to be released, but even with that knowledge, Allison can't quite believe that they wouldn't have gone through with it anyway. But what if the price of saving their parents is losing Stiles and Lydia?

"Sorry," Kira says, and she doesn't ask again, doesn't ask what's wrong, just lets Allison sit in silence.

Allison feels a rush of gratitude toward the other girl, but it's quickly quelled when Scott and Isaac return. They're not waltzing – they both look nervous, in fact – but they come down the stairs side by side, and take up their positions within the group. Scott takes the seat on the other side of the coffee table, opposite Kira; Isaac takes the armchair beside the sofa the girls are sitting on. This is their pack – what remains of it, anyway. Allison used to feel safe with them; she used to feel strong, and she knew that they could take on anything. But not like this. Not when their pack is splintered and the nogitsune's running riot, and everything is falling down.

She takes a deep breath. Everyone is looking at her. Everyone is waiting. Everything is about to fall apart. "I saw the nogitsune today," she says, and shock ripples through the room. Isaac jerks his head up and looks at her, his expression part horrified and part confused; Kira tenses up, ready for fight or flight, death or glory; and Scott's eyes widen and Allison's heart breaks as she meets his eyes.

"What happened?" Scott demands, instantly protective. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says quickly, and he relaxes ever so slightly. "It was a brief encounter. I ran into him on the street, and then he left. With…"

Here it is; the moment of truth. The reason why she called this meeting. The reason why she suddenly feels like a failure. (If she can't even keep her best friend safe, how can she possibly hope to save anyone else?)

"With?" Isaac prompts, sharing a confused look with Scott.

The two werewolves turn back to her, and Kira is still looking at her, and Allison suddenly realizes that her hands are clammy and her heart is racing. By the looks Scott and Isaac are giving her, she knows they can tell; she tries to slow her heartbeat, if not for her benefit then for theirs, but it's impossible. She doesn't blame it for trying to break out of her body; she'd do the same if she could. "With Lydia," she says finally, barely able to hear herself over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. "The nogitsune left with Lydia."

"What?" Scott's voice is strained, with a slight hopeful note, like he's waiting for her to say that she's joking. This is probably all a big joke to the nogitsune, but Allison is deadly serious (deadly being the operative word; _god_, she should have killed him when she had the chance). "The nogitsune took Lydia?"

"No," Allison mumbles, and she forces herself to meet the alpha's eyes as she says, "she went with him."

Scott sinks back into the cushions of the chair, and she gets the feeling that he wishes it would open up and swallow him. He and Isaac and Kira are silent, working through the implications of this latest piece of information, and Allison lowers her gaze and finds herself replaying the meeting in her mind, trying to pinpoint exactly where she went wrong. If she'd been more observant she would have seen him before he'd caught her; if she'd been quicker she would have had the advantage and maybe been able to pin him down; if she'd been smarter she wouldn't have sent Isaac away because she thought she could handle sentry duty alone.

They shouldn't have left Lydia. She'd been acting strange all day, and she'd kept trying to push them away. She didn't sit with them at lunch, and she practically fled from Allison after school. But they'd caught up with her at the doors and tried to convince her that it was for her own good; she'd given them half a smile and some empty excuse, and she'd left. They'd followed her. They'd lost her. She had found them out at the house and sent them away again, but they wouldn't leave her. Allison had thought she would be able to keep an eye on Lydia, at least until Isaac took over that night. The nogitsune had targeted her before, and it was safe to assume it would do so again – and of the pack, she was the one with the least power (in an _offensive_ sense at least, because she's still understanding her powers and screaming hasn't proven effective against any enemies so far). So it made sense to watch her.

And Allison had watched. Oh, she'd watched as her friend shook hands with a demon and followed him into the darkness without a second thought. She should have stopped it. She shouldn't have left Lydia alone, even for a moment. For one traitorous moment she wonders why Lydia had gone with him, whether she'd ever really been on their side, whether she'd been playing them from the start. But Allison knows Lydia; she may be cold at times, and almost unnervingly intelligent, but she's not evil.

Or at least she wasn't. Not until the nogitsune got to her. "Do you think it was something to do with the fly?" Allison asks when it becomes clear that nobody's going to speak.

As one the pack shakes themselves out of their thoughts and focuses on the hunter. "The one the nogitsune infected her with?" Scott asks.

Allison nods; it's the only thing she can think of. Lydia wouldn't go with the nogitsune of her own accord. She wouldn't. Which means he was influencing her somehow. He has to be. "What if there are still traces left in her? We got the worst of it, but what if some of the magic is still in her?"

"That would definitely explain why she'd go with him," Kira says. "She might not even be aware of what she was doing. Mind control is easily within the nogitsune's power range."

It should be a relief that Lydia isn't evil, but the thought of her being manipulated doesn't sit well with Allison either. It didn't seem like Stiles – the nogitsune, she corrects herself, although the lines between the two are blurring and she can't help but wonder how long it will be until the demon takes over – wanted to hurt Lydia, but it's entirely possible he'll use her to hurt the pack. And if that happens, there won't be any coming back. They might be able to save Lydia from the nogitsune, but they wouldn't be able to save her from the guilt.

"So if she's being manipulated," Isaac says slowly, "she's still one of us."

_She's always been one of us_, Allison thinks, but she doesn't say it. "Which means we need to help her," Allison says, "and Stiles too."

Silence falls on the group, and then Scott stands up. Sometimes Allison forgets just how commanding he can be – inspiring people with just a look, rousing them with speeches that stir the heart and soul. He's their alpha for a reason, and right now she remembers what it is.

"So what are we going to do?" she asks, grateful that she's not the one who has to call the shots. She'll help in any way she can, but she's glad she doesn't have to make the hard decisions.

Scott lets his gaze linger on each of his pack: Isaac, Kira, Allison. She shivers when he looks at her, and then her heartbeat slows. For a brief instant she feels like everything is going to be okay; how can it not be, with Scott to lead them? His gaze returns to the room as a whole, encompassing his entire pack – not just the ones who are present but the ones they're trying to save. He straightens up, looking every bit the alpha, and he says simply, "We're going to save them."

And for just a moment, Allison believes him.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review.**


	27. Battlefield

**Guys. If you're reading, _please review_. If I feel like people aren't interested in my writing I'll lose motivation to update, and interest in writing any stories after this. So if you're out there, lemme know.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

It's chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. And Stiles can't get enough of it. Well, not the real Stiles – he's still screaming, although it's interspersed with sobs and the occasional plea now, which are sweet to the ears and music to his heart – but the nogitsune loves it. He and the girls are parked outside a clearing in the reserve. Lydia is in the passenger seat, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and tying it back with a pencil she'd found on the floor of his car. His eyes travel down her body, lazily stroking her with his mind, and she glances up at him when his gaze reaches her thighs. She smiles and turns away.

Allison is in the backseat; she hadn't wanted to come on this outing to begin with, but they – or more specifically, Lydia – had talked her into it. The hunter is seeming distant already, which is not a good sign. It means that two scenarios are likely: either the real Allison will fight back and overcome the magic – or the magic will poison her. The exact toxicity differs between people, and although she's strong he doubts she's supernatural-strong, which means that it could be as soon as a day before she succumbs. But it could be up to a week, and he hopes it's the latter.

The period of possession can be somewhat touchy, and the initial struggle for dominance over the host's mind can be dangerous for all involved. The real Lydia is still fighting back, albeit ineffectually, and if Allison was possessed, she would undoubtedly find a way to fight as well. And if the two girls managed to take control at the same moment, they could take him out. He knows that by now they've changed their mission. It had started out as _Save Stiles and stop the nogitsune_, but now they'll settle for _Stop the nogitsune at all costs. _Allison in particular has the potential to be lethal; she's actually told him, right to his face, that she had debated killing him, even before she was taken over by the magic. He had found this highly amusing.

"Are you ready?" he asks, meeting Allison's eyes in the rear-view mirror and waiting for her nod before he disembarks from the car. The girls follow, stepping out into the crisp evening air. This moment has been a long time coming – he'd infected Derek and the twins quite a while ago, and they hadn't even fought against it very much. But since both teams had been affected, they'd both gone on the offensive – resulting in them not actually crossing paths until this moment. But now they're both here, for their final fight, and Stiles can feel the electricity thrumming through his veins and crackling around his fingertips. This is it.

They start walking through the woods, Lydia holding Stiles' hand and Allison bringing up the rear with crossbow in hand, and they quicken their step when they hear a howl. It's followed by another, and then there's silence. When they reach the next clearing, they stop.

The scent of blood is strong, almost overpowering, and Stiles can see Allison take a step back. But he and Lydia breathe it in, intoxicated. One of the twins – Ethan, he thinks, but he can't tell from this distance - is on the ground and the other is standing in front of him, blocking Derek. The two remaining fighters are standing less than a foot away, hackles bared and fangs out, and Derek's even emitting a low growl.

Stiles folds his arms and leans against the nearest tree, watching in amusement. Allison takes a tentative step forward, stops, and then half-shrugs, like she's trying to convince herself not to care. He shares a look with Lydia; they'll need to get Allison possessed soon if they don't want her turning against them. He wouldn't admit it – not even to Lydia – but the hunter is actually rather intimidating, and he much prefers her being on their side, even if it's only reluctant and through magic. She's fiddling with her crossbow, and he eyes it warily; he imagines one of those lethal-looking arrows embedding itself in his flesh, and then he laughs. It's not _his_ body, of course. If it gets too damaged he can abandon it, and he doesn't think the pack has realized this. They would have to kill Stiles instantly for it to have any effect; with even a second's notice the nogitsune could flee the scene and possess someone else.

"Who are you cheering for?" Lydia asks, her hand drifting up and down his arm, a tentative and almost absent exploration that makes Stiles' skin tingle. Her eyes are on the fight, but she doesn't seem incredibly interested. He knows that she – or rather the nogitsune that has taken over her body – prefers emotional pain to physical, and chaos has never really been her thing. After this, he knows just how to reward her.

"Derek," Stiles says, and he can hear the real Stiles groan. "The poor guy deserves a win every once in a while."

The fight is at a standstill, but it doesn't last long. For a moment there's a silence that almost passes for peace, and then the air explodes as both werewolves lunge forward simultaneously. They slam into each other and spin sideways, and as Stiles tracks their movement he catches sight of someone in the trees on the other side of the clearing. Peter is standing almost out in the open, not even bothering to hide his presence. He hasn't noticed Stiles and the others because he's so entranced by the fight, and Stiles quickly runs through the ways he could use this to his advantage. But none of them appeal – Peter has never been part of his plan. So he lets it go and turns back to the fight.

Derek rams his elbow into Aiden's stomach and the younger wolf doubles over in pain, but recovers quickly; before Derek can so much as smirk, Aiden straightens up and slams his fist into the former alpha's face. For just a second, Stiles sees it – elation. On Aiden's face and in Derek's eyes, although it fades quickly in the latter. This is the chaos he thrives on, the pain he lives for. The wolves are in love with the idea of pain, and it's not just because of the nogitsune – it's innate, something they'll never be able to escape from.

Stiles turns to say something to Lydia, but he never gets the chance. A shiver ripples through him and then slashes across his heart, so sharp that he almost expects blood to pour from his chest. It doesn't, but he can feel his ribcage snapping and his heart being stretched. Something's wrong; something's breaking. Lydia's eyes fly open in concern and she holds out a hand to steady him, but he pushes her away. He knows what's happening, but he just hadn't thought it would be so soon. (He had hoped it wouldn't be at all, but he had known better than to underestimate that damn McCall pack.)

"What's going on?" Allison asks, but he doesn't answer.

The three of them focus on the fight again, only to realize that there isn't one anymore. Derek and the twins are both sprawled on the ground, unconscious. Three dead flies are out there, lost among the leaves; he can't see them but he can feel them. Someone's breaking his spell, snatching away his control.

"Stiles -" Allison starts to say, and then she stops. Her heart skips a beat and the breath gets caught in her throat and Stiles knows that she's fighting.

Someone is breaking through his control, taking the pack away from under him. In his mind he writes Derek and the twins off; they're a lost cause. But they're out cold, and that should keep them out of trouble for the time being. They're not a threat, but there is someone who can threaten him. Someone who is now pointing a loaded crossbow at him, in fact.

Allison's eyes are hard and her hand unflinching. He can feel his control over her waning, but it's not gone. Not yet. The fly is still inside her, and as long as it is, he can get to her. He becomes perfectly still, unthreatening and undemanding, not wanting to provoke her. (She's quicker with her bow than her tongue but he knows well how much both can hurt.) He sinks back into his senses, letting the world wash over him, until he picks up the thread of his connection to the hunter. The magic is draining him, but some of the energy comes back now that he no longer has to keep up the spell on the werewolves.

He gathers this energy and flings it at Allison, who stumbles back a step under the force of it. Lydia watches with narrowed eyes, clearly following what's happening, but she doesn't say anything; she seems vaguely interested, but nowhere near as excited as she had when they'd first brought the hunter on board. Allison lets the crossbow fall to the ground and she rolls her shoulders, the magic taking control of her again. Stiles keeps leaning against the tree, for support now rather than dramatic effect, because taking control of Allison is harder than it had been last time; she's fighting, oh _god_ she's fighting, and if she keeps it up she might actually _win_. It takes almost a minute, but eventually he overpowers her. They haven't moved, haven't said a word, but he manages to wrap his mind around her and draw her in close.

When he's sure she's his again, he speaks. "There's something happening," he says tightly. "At the animal clinic."

Allison nods sharply, taking her cue. "I'll check it out," she says, picking it up and letting it swing by her side as she walks away. She breaks into a run at the end of the path and soon disappears from sight, and only then does Stiles let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Someone is messing up his plans, and that person is going to pay.

"Stiles," Lydia says, and he turns to her, but then his eyes slide past her and land on the clearing. The empty clearing.

"_Damn it._" His first instinct is to hit the tree in frustration, but he quickly dispels that idea; that would be too much like giving in to his emotions, too close to admitting that he might have been outfoxed. He doesn't know where the twins and Derek went, but that's probably the least of his worries. He and the twins will be in no fit shape to launch any offensive encounters for a while, but that doesn't mean they're out of the equation yet.

"It's okay," Lydia says, moving closer to him, and just like that his worries start to melt away. Part of it is because of Stiles – the poor boy has gone quiet again, still caught off-guard by the fact that Lydia (or at least something in her body) is approaching him. "We'll get them," she assures him, and she takes his hands in hers and he can feel her pulse in her skin and can see the fire in her eyes. (It's not the same fire the real Lydia has, but it's no less ferocious.)

"I know," he says, and he mumbles this into her shoulders as she stands on her tiptoes and hugs him – there's nothing sensual about the act, nothing comforting (especially given the location her hands have drifted to; _comfort_ doesn't quite describe it), and it's just a reminder that they're in this together. They're a couple of centuries-old demons up against a bunch of misfit teens. What's there to be worried about?

"There we go," she says, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Feel better now?"

"Mhm," he murmurs into her neck, and then she pulls away and looks at him, fire dancing in her eyes and half a smile on her face. Apparently the fact that he's losing control over his magic – or, even worse, that someone is stealing the control from him – is of no concern to her. "And I think I have a way to thank you."

Lydia's smile widens; still coy but more open now. "Oh really?" She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, and Stiles can't tell if this is something the other nogitsune does or something Lydia would do.

He doesn't respond. Instead he closes his eyes, steals back into his mind, and unlocks a door. When Stiles opens his eyes again, it's clear who's in control. His eyes swim with tears; his voice chokes on her name. And then he simply slumps to the ground, overwhelmed, still trapped even though his body is temporarily his.

From deep within Stiles' mind, the nogitsune grins.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Etc, etc.**


	28. Wolf moon

**Shoutouts to, well, everyone who reviewed last chapter. Thank you all so much. That kind of response really encourages me to post more often, so keep it up and I'll do my best to have the next chapter up soon. For now, enjoy, and be sure to read the AN at the end of the chapter because I have a favor to ask.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

The plan is ambitious, vague, and so far ineffective. _We have to save Stiles and Lydia_, Scott had informed the pack, _but to do that we have to find them first._ Which is why the next day before school, Isaac is following his alpha through the dew-wet forest as they try to track their friends' scents. Isaac isn't optimistic about this plan, but he knows better than to say that. Scott is worried about his friends – as he should be – and he needs the remaining pack members on his side.

Allison is searching in town for them, checking their favorite haunts, even though they know they're probably not going to be there. And if Allison does stumble across them, it probably won't be an accident; the nogitsune will be found when it wants to be found. And with Lydia on its side, the pack doesn't stand a chance of outsmarting them. But that's not going to stop them from trying.

They haven't spoken for a while, not since they lost the trail back at the entrance to the reserve, but Isaac's head is swimming with things he wants to say. He and Scott haven't really talked since the whole nogitsune issue came up, and suggesting that they kill Stiles had definitely not endeared him to his alpha – but they're still friends, still almost brothers, and he doesn't want to lose him. He's finally found a pack, finally found a family, and now they're about to be ripped away from him. Unless they can find Lydia and Stiles.

Scott pauses when they reach the river, inhaling deeply and looking up and down the waterway, as if he's hoping his friends will materialize from the early morning mist. They don't, and after a long moment Scott sighs. Then he sinks down wearily onto a boulder by the bank, and he stares into the water with the most forlorn look Isaac has ever seen.

Isaac clears his throat, wondering if Scott just needs a moment and will jump back into the search as soon as he gets his energy back up, but no such thing happens. A few minutes pass, and Scott just stares steadily into the water, and Isaac tries to stop the sinking feeling settling in his stomach. He's never seen Scott so down, so hopeless, so full of the despair that up until now Isaac had thought the alpha didn't have in him.

When it becomes clear that Scott isn't going to move, Isaac sits down on the boulder next to him and follows his gaze. In the water he sees his past, and his future; he sees an alternate timeline in which he was the alpha instead, and he shudders at the thought. Scott handles the responsibility better than anyone else could even dream of doing, and Isaac couldn't wish for a better alpha.

He could, however, wish to be a better beta – a better friend, a better person – and in fact he does so, frequently. Like right now, when he tries and fails to come up with something reassuring to tell Scott. There's nothing reassuring to be said, not when the situation is so grim. Stiles and Lydia are gone, and even if they find them, there's no guarantee they'll be able to save them. Both werewolves are carrying a special tranquilizing potion that Deaton had given them, and they're prepared to use it on Stiles and Lydia if they find them. And if they get that far, the plan is then to take them back to Scott's house and keep them there until they can find a way to actually save them.

It's not one of their better plans, but it's the only one they've got. Isaac's hands are in his pockets, and one of his fingers brushes up against the small leather box that encases the tranquilizer. Inside is a needle full of pale green liquid, and if it comes to it he's expected to jam that into Stiles' arm and push the plunger. He'll do it – he has to – but he won't be happy about it. Despite their frequent bickering and surface tension, he doesn't actually mind Stiles, and he certainly wouldn't wish this upon him. He wouldn't wish this upon his worst enemy. And if it means saving Stiles, he'll do what he has to do.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, and Scott doesn't turn to him, doesn't react at all. He just keeps staring at the water, and Isaac doesn't know if he's trying to find the answers or lose himself. "I didn't expect you to agree that we should kill Stiles. I know you haven't even thought it. It's just that -"

"I have."

Those two words, edged with sadness and guilt, make Isaac do a double take. Scott still isn't looking at him, but Isaac can sense waves of pain coming off him. "What?" he manages to choke out.

Scott takes a shuddering breath and then looks up at his friend. "I have thought about it," he confesses. "In my mind I've killed Stiles a hundred times, because I know it might come to that."

This takes Isaac by complete surprise. Scott had been adamant that killing Stiles wasn't an option, and that hurting him was to be avoided if at all possible. He had just assumed that Scott believed in it wholeheartedly, that he knew something they didn't and could therefore guarantee that they would be able to save the others without killing them. Now he sees that Scott is as scared as the rest of them; he's just better at hiding it.

A light wind picks up, ruffling the edges of Isaac's scarf, playing with the sleeves of Scott's shirt. It's cold out here, but Scott doesn't seem to notice; he's not shivering but he's shaking, like the weight of all his responsibilities is too much for him, like the pressure is building until he's going to explode. Isaac would never want to be the alpha, not if it means early morning searches and late night missions and life-or-death decisions.

"I shouldn't think things like that," Scott goes on, returning his gaze to the water. It's moving slowly, little more than a trickle, but for one horrible moment Isaac thinks Scott is going to try to drown himself in it anyway. "I'm his best friend; I shouldn't even consider the possibility of killing him. I don't want to be the kind of person who thinks like that. Isaac, I don't want to be the kind of person who gives up on their friends."

"You aren't," Isaac assures him quickly. "Scott, you're one of the most stupidly selfless people I've ever met. You would never give up on your friends, and you'd go out of your way to help people you don't even know. But you're not just a good person – you're a good _alpha_. And that means you have to make the hard choices and deal with the difficult thoughts. You have to consider every eventuality because if you don't, someone could end up getting hurt." Isaac cuts himself off, realizing that his speech is heading toward the unbearably sentimental side. He lets out a slow breath and then says, "I don't envy you."

Scott gives him something that almost passes for a smile. "I don't know why Derek and Peter were so hell-bent on being alpha," he says. "It's definitely not all it's cracked up to be."

"You do it well, though," Isaac says. He hesitates, and then, at the risk of sounding sentimental, he adds, "I wouldn't want to follow another alpha."

Apparently this isn't too sappy, because Scott's expression melts into something that actually looks like a smile. "And if we can save Stiles and Lydia, you won't have to."

Neither of them mention the implications of this statement. Isaac doesn't want to consider what will happen if they can't save their friends. It would be more than just losing Stiles and Lydia – they would all lose each other too. No matter who actually survived, they would all die; they would all lose parts of themselves, they'd all have their hearts ripped out, and they'd never be able to look at each other again. Isaac knows he'd never even be able to look in the mirror if he didn't manage to save his friends, and he's sure Scott would take it even worse. He might leave Beacon Hills, he might step down as alpha, he might lose himself entirely.

There's more Isaac wants to say, but the moment passes. Finally Scott gets to his feet, and as he stands some of the vulnerability fades from him, his features sharpening with determination, his shoulders square and his eyes becoming harder. But behind his eyes Isaac can see it now – uncertainty. Scott is always second-guessing himself, always trying to do his best, and it's getting harder. But he's making the right choice; he has to be.

"We should get back to it," Scott says, and Isaac understands that this means that the conversation is at an end. He's not sure why Scott chose to confide in him – whether it was because it was Isaac specifically or whether he was just here when Scott reached breaking point – but he's glad he did.

As they continue their search, Isaac finds himself watching Scott's back, keeping an eye on the figure up ahead. Scott walks with purpose, carefully picking his way through the tangle of trees and expertly clambering through patches of shrubs, but there's always a slight hesitancy in his movements, something Isaac hadn't noticed before. Finally Scott turns back to him and shakes his head; he's calling off the search.

Isaac slows down and waits for Scott to walk back to him, and then without a word the two of them start the long trek back home. They don't talk about what this means, about how Stiles and Lydia have been missing all night and they don't know where they went or what the hell they did. On the way Isaac checks in with Allison, who tells him that there's been no sign of Stiles anywhere in town. The Sheriff had called her and asked if she knew where he was because he hadn't come home last night, and she hadn't had the heart to tell him what had happened.

He relays the message on to Scott, who just grimaces. It might just be Isaac's imagination, but he swears the forest is darker now than it had been when they first set off on their mission. It's entirely possible, he realizes, that this is all some metaphorical trick of the senses – he was never exactly optimistic to begin with, and even he's losing hope quickly. The others are too, but they don't mention it; nobody does, because as soon as they say _losing hope _it leads to _losing Stiles and Lydia_, and that's not an option. It's never been an option. Still.

Trees loom overhead, shadows stretch beneath his feet, and the cold morning air pricks at his face. Not much can persuade him to be up at this time of morning, but he'd do it in a heartbeat for any member of the pack. He'd do anything for them; they're the only family he has. The only family he's ever had.

And they're splintering, the group being shot through with suspicion and fear and the lingering sense of guilt over the fact that two of their own have been taken by the nogitsune – and one of them willingly. He had never had much to do with Lydia, but he had always assumed that she had the same kind of moral compass as Allison, pointing straight toward protecting the weak and veering away from joining forces with a homicidal demon.

Maybe he doesn't know them as well as he'd thought, but he'd still do anything to save them.

"The reason you didn't say anything about killing Stiles," Isaac says as they reach the perimeter of the forest, emerging into sunlight that seems to shy away from them, like it knows the kind of darkness they live in and can't do a thing to help. "Was that because you knew you wouldn't be able to do it?"

Scott glances over his shoulder at him. He pauses for a moment, and then he keeps walking. The words drift back to Isaac behind him, and the beta wolf has to run them through in his mind a couple of times before he can be sure he heard them right.

"No. It was because I was scared I would."

He definitely heard them right… but he suddenly wishes he hadn't.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**I haven't really been able to write in a couple of months, but I want to stretch my writing muscles before NaNo. So would any of you lovely people be willing to give me a prompt? I'd only be able to do a one-shot, and preferably it'd be something angst/tragedy... you know, my usual. I'd be happy to do something for Teen Wolf, Pretty Little Liars, or maybe even The Vampire Diaries. Any takers? Just PM me with your prompt and I'll try to give it a go. Thanks for your attention, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)**


	29. Anchors

**Thanks for the reviews, you guys are awesome. I'm hard at work on the prompts. First one out will be 'spirit', which was the idea gossgal33 put forth. Keep an eye out.**

**Warning for this chapter... actually, not a warning. Just an apology. Please forgive me for what I'm about to do.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

Not too long ago, Stiles had talked to Melissa about something called voluntary apnoea. She remembers how the corner of his mouth had twitched as he said the word, how he'd flinched when he'd said it felt like he was dying, how at last a small smile had crept across his face as he explained that the second you stop fighting and let the water in, it's actually sort of peaceful. Snippets from that conversation are swirling around in Melissa's mind now: _stop fighting_,_ head exploding_, _almost peaceful_. There had been nothing peaceful about what had just happened, even though Mr Argent and the Sheriff hadn't even fought. It had all been voluntary for them – they'd chosen to let the water in, because some things are more important than safety, than breathing, than _life_. It had been moving, it had been terrifying, but it had not, by any definition, been _peaceful_.

Melissa is sitting in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed on the two tubs in front of her. There are plenty of chairs in the room, of course, but she doesn't want to sit on them because this way she at least has a minimally better chance of the earth opening up and swallowing her. Besides, this way no one can tell how badly she's shaking.

Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the Sheriff's face. His expression as he'd gone under was full of trust – he had no doubts she would be able to bring him back. That was okay, since she had enough doubts for the both of them. Scott had told her about the sacrifice they'd performed, how they'd been out for _sixteen hours_. Melissa desperately hopes that this isn't the case now, because not only would that cause her nerves to be completely shot, she has a shift at the hospital starting in less than ten. She glances at her watch again, and she has to keep her eyes on it for a while to be sure it's actually moving. The second hand ticks steadily on, but like it's moving half as quickly as it should, twice as slowly as it normally does. She's not experiencing time in the usual way either; it's not a smooth curve, a gentle progression. It's snapshots.

Deaton leaning over Mr Argent's tub, making sure he's still alive. Isaac trying to call Allison for the hundredth time, even though they all know she's not going to answer. A swish of water in one of the tubs, a cause for excitement until the gathered group realizes it was just a chunk of ice shifting. Melissa's hands are curled around the rim of the tub now, digging into the metal, and it's so cold it makes her shiver but she doesn't pull away. He looks peaceful now, but her arms are still aching from holding him under, because even though it had been his decision his survival instincts had kicked in. He'd almost managed to overpower her at one point, but she had simply murmured his child's name and he'd sunk back into the water and let it overwhelm him.

It's hard to tell what's going on. Melissa looks over at Deaton, who looks serene as ever as he sprinkles some herbs in Argent's bath. He'd explained that this was just a way to strengthen their ties to this world, so that they'd be able to find their way back. He carefully doesn't use the word dead; he just says they might get _lost_ or _stuck_. Each move he takes is slow, deliberate, with a steady hand and an impassive expression. Isaac on the other hand is not holding it together so well. He's restless, pacing around the room and sitting down only to jump up a second later and move to another seat. Melissa asks him if he's okay, and he assures her that he is.

But she asks him one last time, when Deaton has left the room to go get something from the front counter, and he changes his mind. Melissa has seen Isaac at his most vulnerable, at his most _broken_, and she remembers how forlorn he had looked that night he'd shown up at their house and asked for a place to stay. She remembers how she had almost said no, but knew she couldn't turn away someone in need. But he doesn't look vulnerable now – he looks worried, more worried than she's ever seen him.

"Isaac," she says, and his eyes snap up to hers and he stops pacing. He tugs at the sleeves of the shirt he's wearing – it's at least two sizes too big, but it was the best she could do – and then he lowers his gaze. "What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitates, and then he shoots a look toward the door. Satisfied that the druid isn't on the other side, he approaches Melissa, and she sees it all in snapshots – each step an isolated event, each breath taking place by itself. Everything loses all context, all connections. Moment to moment, detail by detail – it's all Melissa can do, because if she thinks about more than just this moment she's going to lose her mind.

"It's Deaton," Isaac confides when he reaches her.

A thousand thoughts rush through Melissa's head. He was wrong, he was lying, he's not who he says he is. One thought in particular sticks in her mind, stubbornly clinging to the edges of her consciousness even though she tries hard to scrape it away. What if he had known all along that they wouldn't return? What if the sacrifice was exactly what it sounded like – trading their lives for Stiles and Lydia? She doesn't know Deaton all that well, but she's heard Scott talk about him. Her son adores the guy, and says he always comes through. But he's also used words like _mysterious_ and _guarded_, so if he'd known something that the others would have disapproved of, she figures he would have no problem keeping it from them.

Until it was too late.

"What about him?" Melissa asks, somehow hoping that her low voice will hide her unease. It doesn't, and only seems to increase Isaac's agitation.

Isaac's eyes flick to the tubs and then to the clock on the wall, calculating how long they've been under. He winces. "Deaton knows that the longer they stay under there, the less likely it is that they're coming back," Isaac says.

Melissa knew this already; she could see it in Deaton's eyes, even though he tried to remain optimistic. She wondered if that was for their benefit or his – maybe the only way for him to put one foot in front of the other was to convince himself that he was on the right path. "So what are you thinking?" she asks. "That he made it seem like there was a higher chance of them surviving?"

"I don't know." Isaac lifts his shoulders up in half a shrug and then lowers them again, looking suddenly despondent – and incredibly young. Way too young to be in a situation like this. Melissa is reminded yet again of the fact that he's just a kid; they're all just kids. Yet somehow they end up in life-or-death situations almost every other day, and if they're anywhere near as stressful as today has been, she doesn't understand why they're not all checking into Eichen House right now. "I know he's trying to help, but I can't help but think that he's as lost as we are."

"Not quite _that_ lost," says a voice from the door, amused and yet sounding the faintest bit hurt. Deaton holds a tray laden with cups and a teapot, which he sets down on the nearest counter as his eyes sweep over Argent and the Sheriff. He seems to bite back a sigh, and then he gestures to the tray. "I thought you might like some refreshments. It's going to be a long night."

Melissa makes her way over to the tray and starts to pour herself a cup of tea, but Deaton takes over because her hands are shaking so much. His hands are steady, but she can hear his breathing and it's shaky at best. At worst, it sounds like the beginnings of a panic attack – the kind Stiles used to have. The kind that he's having now, for all she knows, because this whole nogitsune thing is wildly unclear and nobody seems to be able to tell her what's happening to Stiles, let alone where he is or if he's ever coming back.

The room seems unbearably big and impossibly empty, and even though Melissa knows there's plenty of oxygen it feels like she can't breathe. It's been hours, and the two sacrifices haven't stirred. They're dead, they're really dead, and Melissa can't stop herself from thinking that it might be for good. She's supposed to be the Sheriff's anchor – Deaton had been Argent's – but what if she's not enough to pull him back? What if this won't be enough to save Stiles and Scott and the others?

She's about to give voice to her fears, to the unspoken thoughts that they all share but refuse to acknowledge, but then something happens. She feels it a second before she hears it; a shifting somewhere deep inside, and then something snapping. She's on her feet before the other two have even noticed something's wrong. Her cup of tea tumbles to the floor, but she doesn't hear the crash, doesn't feel the liquid dribbling down her leg, doesn't hear Deaton's startled exclamation.

She reaches the tubs and sees Mr Argent rising up, flinging himself out of the water so violently that she has to reach for him and help him out before he breaks something trying. He staggers a step and then slumps against her, breathing so deeply she wouldn't be surprised if his ribcage snapped in half, and Deaton and Isaac rush over to help. Deaton helps Argent stand, and Melissa slips sideways, over to the still occupied tub.

He's lying there, still under the water, looking horribly peaceful. He's not breathing, his eyes are closed, and she can feel cold radiating from the water. Isaac darts off to another room and comes back with a blanket, which he wraps around the hunter as he tries to get his breath back, but the Sheriff doesn't move. Melissa shoots Argent a panicked look, forgetting everything Scott ever told her about the supernatural being unpredictable and levelheadedness being one of the only things that can help. She forgets that she works in the emergency room and can make life or death decisions in a heartbeat, that she can deal with blood and death and pain, that she's a strong woman with no tendency toward hysteria.

All her rational thinking goes out the window as she looks at the Sheriff's lifeless body.

Mr Argent meets her eyes, his mouth turning down the corners, and even before he says anything she knows it's too late. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracked, broken, like splinters of himself have snapped off and been lost in the freezing water he drowned in. Melissa realizes that they've overlooked something important – they had been so focused on making sure they came back that nobody thought about what they would have to leave behind.

"What happened?" Deaton asks, his words heavy and dripping to the ground like blood. He's careful not to step on them as he guides Argent over to a chair, helping him sit down, trying not to break.

"When we were in there," Argent says slowly, "something went wrong. We had to make a choice, and -"

"No," Melissa chokes out.

"- he told me that I had to keep going, and -"

"_No_," she says, more loudly, even though her voice breaks on the word.

"- I'm sorry, I tried to talk him out of it, but -"

"_No_." This time it's a shout, forceful enough to stop Argent's words and cause the others to look at her in surprise. "Don't you dare tell me he didn't make it. Chris, don't you tell me -"

"I'm sorry," he's saying, over and over, his words slicing her heart to ribbons because she can't let herself believe that he's not coming back, not when she's only just found him.

"No," she says, stumbling forward, trying to haul the Sheriff out of the tub, but Deaton pulls her back and she finds herself in Mr Argent's arms, and it's freezing but she doesn't mind because she's freezing too, and the Sheriff is still lying in the tub and everyone's missing and everything is falling apart.

And then, cutting through the chaos and the darkness, Chris whispers five sweet simple words in her ear. "I know where they are."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Oops.**


	30. Riddled

**All right, you owe this relatively quick update to BeautifulBanshee's wonderful review. Thank you as always to anyone who takes the time to read and especially review, and I hope you'll stick with me to the end of the story. We're getting close, guys. Enjoy the chapter!  
**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

He takes her to the hideout. Or, more accurately, she follows him there. Nobody is making her do this; it was her choice. Lydia keeps telling herself that, but there's a block in her mind, something stopping her from fully believing it. She's stressed, she's scared, she's lost and lonely and always confused – but that's no reason to turn against the pack. She remembers the night she joined the pack, the night she found out she was a banshee. She remembers the look in Scott's eyes when she'd told him she was staying, that she'd try to embrace her powers and help him. She remembers the feeling of his hand in hers, silently accepting her into his pack, vowing to protect her, welcoming her to the family.

She remembers because her heart won't let her forget.

But her mind is on a different track altogether, and is focused on where they are now. It's a rundown sort of house on the edge of town, the kind of inconspicuous place that nobody would give a second look if they weren't searching for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to get lost. Somewhere nobody would ever find them.

"Home sweet home," Stiles says as he pushes open the door, only it's not really Stiles and she knows that. She knows it, and she hates herself because it's not enough to turn her away from him. Stiles or not, he's offering her everything she wants: peace, protection, power. Scott had tried to give her those things, she knows, but even though he's a true alpha he still hasn't quite grown into the role. He can't tap into his power effortlessly, can't sweep her away with a well-timed smile, can't promise her that the nogitsune won't kill her. But the nogitsune himself can do all of those things, and the strange thing is that she trusts him.

The inside of the hideout is just as shabby as the outside, but it feels a little bit like home. She realizes she doesn't even have a home anymore, not really; it won't be long before the pack finds out what she's done, and her house will be the first place they'll look. She wonders where they'll try after that – Stiles', maybe, or the school. Maybe even the library. She can picture them there, traipsing through the aisles, Scott following her scent to her favorite foreign languages section, Allison letting her hands drift over the titles of the books as she tries to keep her strength up, Isaac standing in the corner offering a sarcastic commentary.

"Hey," the nogitsune says as they reach the kitchen. He turns to her, and she has to remind herself that the eyes that look back at her aren't Stiles; but they're warm and gentle, like melted honey, like the way the real Stiles is when he looked at her._ Looks_, she corrects herself sternly. Stiles isn't dead; not yet. "You okay?" he asks, and he sounds just like him. Of course he does; it's all part of his ruse, all part of the game Lydia's jumped into, and he's the king and she's still trying to figure out the rules.

"Yeah," she says, hoping she sounds suitably nonchalant. She doesn't, but the nogitsune doesn't comment on it. He takes her hand in his and leads her on a tour of the house, pointing out the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms. The basement.

Her hand feels clammy but she doesn't pull it away. Two conflicting images flash through her mind, and one or both of them send a wave of emotions through her. One of the images is of the moment she had kissed Stiles to stop his panic attack; at least that's what she told him, what she tells herself, because she had never had the courage to tell him that part of her had wanted to kiss him. The other image is of her and the nogitsune in the café, when he'd run his hand up her thigh and whispered words that were either promises or threats.

Her face flushes and she hopes he can't see it, because she doesn't know which image is making her feel this way. She tells herself that it's the first one – of course it's Stiles, he's the only one who's ever made her feel like this – but she's not quite sure. Her _mind_ knows that the creature in his body isn't him, but her _body_ can't tell the difference. The traitorous thing reacts the same whether it's Stiles' lips on hers or the nogitsune's hand trailing up her leg, and she worries it won't be long before she can't tell the difference either.

When the tour is over they settle in the living room, on the same couch but not quite side by side. She angles her body away from him, ever so slightly, and he leaves room in between them, almost enough room for another person. He's oddly respectful, or maybe he's just doing his best not to spook her because he hasn't got full control over her. The latter is more likely, but she still can't find it in her to move away.

After a while she asks the question she's been dying to ask. "Can he… can he hear me?"

The nogitsune seems taken aback at the question, but recovers from his surprise. She's sure he knows how Stiles feels about her, and probably suspects that she feels the same. He nods, slowly, just once, and she feels her heart spike. If Stiles has been here the whole time, he knows what she's done; he knows she betrayed the pack. Suddenly she's glad it's the nogitsune looking at her and not Stiles, because she couldn't stand to see the disappointment in his eyes.

But she has to try. She licks her lips, nervous but determined, and turns her body more toward him, not quite facing him but not so distant anymore. He straightens up slightly, catching on; he knows she means business. It's a delicate balancing game – he wants to keep her on his side (for reasons she still can't fathom) but he doesn't want to risk giving her an advantage in case she does go back to the pack. "Can I talk to him?" she asks, the words coming out in a rush, tripping over themselves and tumbling into her lap.

The nogitsune doesn't seem surprised, but he's not pleased either. He taps his finger against the arm of the couch, thinking. "He can't help you, Lydia," he says after a while. "And you can't help him."

She wants to argue but she doesn't know how. He's right, isn't he? She can't help Stiles; she can't help the pack. She can't stop the nogitsune, and only the nogitsune can stop the voices in her head. It's all a vicious horrible cycle that ends terribly every time, but she can't break free. "I know," she says. "I just… I need to tell him that I'm sorry."

Something like sympathy flashes through the nogitsune's eyes, but it's gone before she can be sure. He surveys her, taking in every feature, every detail, every flaw, and she has to work hard not to shrink under his gaze. But then he fixes his eyes on hers and something stirs in her. "Okay," he says. "You can talk to Stiles for a minute – but you have to do something for me too."

Lydia's mouth feels dry. "What is it?"

"I won't tell you until you agree," he says, and she stares at him, hoping he'll take it back. He doesn't; he's serious. She has to give him something he wants – something that will undoubtedly be used against her or her friends – but in return she gets to see Stiles, the real Stiles. She gets to explain and apologize and maybe she can even tell him what she's been trying to find the words to say for months.

"Okay," she says. "I'll do it."

At first Lydia thinks the nogitsune didn't hear her, but when she turns to look at him, he's not the one looking back. She can tell right away; only Stiles could look as simultaneously despondent and elated. He raises a hand experimentally, unused to being given control of his own body. He looks around the room, down at his feet, up at the ceiling, and finally he looks at Lydia.

And then he starts crying.

Lydia's apology dies on her tongue and before she knows it she's hugging him. He's sobbing into her shoulder, his tears soaking her shirt and his breathing shaking her body. She holds him tight, holds him long enough for him to get his breath back and pull away and look at her. Really look at her – faults and all. There it is; that spark of disappointment. It's not as much as she had been expecting, but it hurts all the same.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she's not just speaking to him but to the whole pack. Scott, Allison, Isaac, Kira – they all deserve better than this. None of them would have done something like this, and none of them could possibly understand how much she hates herself right now.

But Stiles understands. "It's okay," he says, but the last word catches on a sob and he takes a deep shuddering breath. "I know… I know why you did it."

"Y-you do?" She wants to touch him, to hold him, but she doesn't know if he'd want that. He may understand, but that doesn't mean he'll forgive her.

"Yeah." He's looking at the floor, his shoulders shaking and his face slick with tears, and she suddenly hates the nogitsune with everything she's got. "When – when that thing first took over, I didn't stop it. I tried, but I – I couldn't. And part of me just… gave up."

"It was easier not to fight," she says, and his grim smile echoes her sentiments. It seems cruel that they finally have a connection, that they have something holding them together, and instead of love or even lust it's the fact that neither of them could keep themselves from being taken over by evil. (She wonders if part of him likes it, but she doesn't mention it because then he would ask her the same question.)

"It's not too late," Stiles says, and he reaches for her hand. Then he jerks his hand away and looks to the side, a pained expression on his face. "Shut _up_," he snarls, and Lydia winces until she realizes it wasn't directed at her. He turns back to her, wipes his cheek with his sleeve, tries to look composed even though they both know he's falling apart. "It's not too late," he says again. "You can still fight this."

Bless Stiles and his faith in her; curse him for making her feel this way. She's never been the one to fight, to save the day; she's never been a hero. She's always hidden behind Allison's arrows or Kira's sword or Scott's fangs. Her only weapon had been her mind, but even that is betraying her. It's almost like she's been impaled by her weapon of choice, because the nogitsune isn't hurting her, isn't torturing her – he's _seducing_ her, twisting her mind and her heart, and she can't stop him. It would hurt less if he just stabbed her.

Stiles reaches for her again, holds her hand for a second, and then he groans.

"What is it?" Lydia asks, alarm shooting through her. "Stiles, what's wrong?"

"He's coming back," he says, and before Lydia can say a word he's kissing her. Desperate, devastated. It's an apology and a farewell and a declaration all at once, and then it isn't.

Because it's not Stiles kissing her anymore. The nogitsune is fierce, hungry, _insatiable_, and she knows she can't stop him from devouring her. But he stops himself. He pulls away and (she can still taste him on her lips) smiles and (her traitorous heart skips a beat) then he says, "You owe me something."

It hadn't been long enough, hadn't been anywhere near enough time, but she made a promise and (even if it's with the devil) she won't go back on it. "What do you want?"

For a second she thinks he's going to kiss her again, because he's leaning in toward her with that same hungry look in his eyes, but then he swerves at the last minute and his lips brush against her ear. He whispers to her, his breathing tickling her skin but his words making her heart shiver.

Lydia's blood turns to ice, and she is suddenly absolutely sure that she's made a colossal mistake. And she's equally as sure that she can't do a thing to right it.

So she swallows, blocks out the echoes of Stiles' voice in her mind, and she gives the nogitsune exactly what he wants.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**I love Stydia. That is all.**

**(Also please don't forget to review!)**


	31. Second chance at first line

**In answer to BeautifulBanshee's review (yep, mentioning you two chapters in a row): yes, I have been told I'm a horrible person. I take it as a compliment.**

**Also, if you think what I've done so far is evil, just you wait.**

**Now. This chapter starts off a string of events that I absolutely love. I don't want to give anything away, but I'm so excited to share this with you. Also, next chapter will be the last of the 'Then' storyline as things get more intense 'Now'. I think that's about it, so enjoy, review, and I'll see you soon I guess.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Now.**_

The coldness in the room has nothing to do with the tubs full of ice or the open window or the harsh metal floors. It has nothing to do with what's in the room; it's about what's missing. No, not missing; _gone_. Melissa has stopped crying now, but her face is still streaked with tears and she keeps shaking her head as if silently challenging the course of fate. But fate doesn't answer, and the Sheriff doesn't come back. Isaac doesn't look at him; he can't. Since becoming a werewolf Isaac has seen death, has seen more blood and heartbreak than he can bear to think about, but he's never been this close to it before. Even Deaton looks genuinely upset, but he masks it with professionalism; they still have a job to do.

Mr Argent clears his throat. It's been almost ten minutes since anyone spoke, but they all know they need to do something soon. "We should go and find Scott," Mr Argent says. "He's the alpha, so he can help us get the others back." On the word _others_ his eyes flick toward the Sheriff and he tries not to flinch. Even if they do get Stiles back, they're going to have to tell him that his dad isn't coming back.

Isaac nods, realizing that the hunter is looking at him. He's still wary of Mr Argent, for more reasons than one (he's never sure if he's more scared of Mr Argent as a hunter or as Allison's father), but old insecurities and suspicions have to be put aside if they're going to be able to do this. Isaac's pack is gone, and so is Mr Argent's family. This is no time to be hesitant; it's the time to put their lives in each other's hands.

"Okay." Mr Argent grabs his coat and starts toward the door, but Melissa's voice pulls him back.

"Wait," she says, her voice weak and her hands still shaking. "Before you go… can you tell me…"

She trails off, but it's clear what she means. Mr Argent looks at Deaton, who nods; no sense in hiding anything. With a barely perceptible slump of the shoulders, Mr Argent sinks back into the chair. The others gather around to hear the story, even though none of them want to. It's not about what they want; it's about what's going to help them defeat the nogitsune.

"When we went under," he says slowly, "we woke up at the Nemeton. I'll spare you the details, but we went through a few trials before we were deemed worthy to continue."

"Worthy?" Isaac interrupts. "By who?"

Mr Argent shrugs. "Whoever or whatever was behind the dreamscape." When nobody asks any more questions, he continues. "We went on, following the trail. We were in the woods, but it was during the day – the sun was so bright I had to close my eyes. But when I did, I lost sight of the Sheriff."

Isaac feels his heart speed up with fear, but then he realizes that there's no need to be scared. He knows how this story ends; he knows there's no happy ending.

"I kept going," Mr Argent goes on. "It felt like I was there for weeks. Lost. Wandering. There were… The forest was full of all kinds of things. All of my darkest fears, lurking in the shadows. I managed to fight most of them off, and eventually I reached the Sheriff."

A shudder goes through Isaac, as well as a rush of respect. He's suddenly glad he hadn't volunteered to go under; he's come a long way, but he's not ready to come face-to-face with his deepest fears. He can't even acknowledge them, let alone fight them.

"The doors we had to close were literal doors," he says. "They were right in front of us, and we just walked forward and we slammed them closed. But then we realized – we had no way of getting out now. We knew that they were the only doors there, and that we couldn't go through them because we'd have to leave them open – which would defeat the whole purpose of going there in the first place."

"So the doors are closed?" Deaton asks when Mr Argent pauses for breath. "You managed to restore the balance?"

"Yes." Mr Argent stumbles over the word, evidently remembering the price they'd had to pay. "Stiles and Scott should be free from the darkness, assuming we can…" He cuts himself off and clears his throat again, but the implications of his words are clear. "We found another door not long after, but there was only one."

It doesn't take much of an imagination to know where this is going, but it still makes Isaac feel sick. He looks over to the Sheriff again, and then he looks at Melissa. She's chewing on her bottom lip, and he can't tell if she's trying not to scream or start crying again. She meets his eyes and, for the first time he can remember, she doesn't have a reassuring smile to give him. There's no reassurance here, no hope, no way to move on. But they have to.

"Only one of us could go through it," he says, and Isaac hears Melissa stifle a sob. He wants to hug her, to tell her that it's going to be all right, but he can't lie and he can't convince himself that things will be okay in the end. They're sure as hell not okay now. "We argued about it for a while, and I thought I'd managed to convince him that I should stay behind. But then… he pushed me."

Isaac glances over at the Sheriff again. He looks almost otherworldly, light glinting eerily off the surface of the water, and Isaac isn't surprised that the Sheriff had sacrificed himself. If anyone had it in them to literally protect until the last breath, it's the Sheriff. He pushes away a pang of sadness (someone is going to have to tell Stiles that his dad didn't make it) and focuses on Mr Argent again.

"By the time I turned around, he was gone, and the door was closed," Argent explains, but all Isaac can hear is the hunter's heartbeat. The way it skips a beat or two, and then kicks in double-time. _He's lying. _"I ended up in another room – a basement. It's the one where Scott's being held, and I know where it is."

Isaac starts to ask Mr Argent what he isn't telling them, but the hunter turns to him and shakes his head; slightly, gently, silently asking him not to say anything. Although it goes against his better instincts, Isaac dips his head and says nothing.

"You should go," Melissa says, and Isaac thinks she's never sounded so far away.

Mr Argent looks at Deaton again. "Will you be all right here?"

"We'll be fine," the druid assures them. "You and Isaac go and find Scott. We'll…"

He trails off, and Isaac wonders what he was going to say. _Clean up. Deal with the body. Try not to get killed. _He doesn't finish his sentence, and none of them ask him to.

"Let's go," Mr Argent says to Isaac, and the two get to their feet. The hunter hesitates, looking at Melissa, like he's trying to decide whether sympathy or apologies is the way to go, but instead he offers her a gentle smile that she doesn't see, and then he leads the way outside.

They're halfway to the car before Isaac asks. "What really happened?"

Mr Argent doesn't answer until they're in the car and on the road, away from that horrible room and the broken people inside it. His face looks almost ghostly under the streetlights, washed with a weary light, eyes dulled by sadness and teeth clenched. He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel and glances over at the young werewolf. "It wasn't quite as quick as I made it seem."

The news doesn't shock Isaac, but it does unsettle him. It's bad enough to know that the Sheriff died; but to think that he might have suffered beforehand is almost too much to contemplate. It doesn't even matter that he died a hero, that he might have saved Scott and Stiles and Allison. What matters is that he's _gone_. "How bad was it?"

The silence is answer enough, but after a few long minutes Mr Argent speaks again. "I didn't see what did it," he says. "Some kind of ethereal creature. But he… As he was dying, the Sheriff said something to me."

Until now Isaac has been staring out the window, trying to find some comfort in the world flying past his view (but he can't because he keeps remembering that it's a world in which the Sheriff is no longer alive), but now he turns to face his companion. "What did he say?"

Mr Argent's hands tighten around the wheel again. The car drifts past the next streetlight, so that they're both bathed in darkness. "_Save them_," Mr Argent says.

They fall silent, but Isaac's heart is hammering in his chest. They're going to find Scott; they're going to save him. He's going to help them save Stiles, Allison, and Lydia, and then the pack will be whole again. Things will be back to normal and Isaac can stop feeling like a panic attack waiting to happen and the nogitsune will be out of their lives forever. (He knows that _normal_ for Beacon Hills would be chaos elsewhere, but they can handle it by now.)

Less than a minute after Mr Argent tells Isaac that they're almost there, their plans come screeching to a halt. They've just turned down a residential street, one lined with trees and manor houses on either side, when they see it. An overturned car. Windows smashed, front crumpled, blood on the windshield. Mr Argent slows the car down as they approach. It's clear there was an accident, but there's something wrong – something missing. The area is deserted.

Cautiously they get out of the car and investigate, and come to the same conclusion: there's no one here. For the first time in days, Isaac's mind isn't taken over by concern for his pack – there's a more immediate problem now. He runs through scenarios in his head: the injured passenger crawled or walked away and is somewhere nearby; one of the people who live on this street took the person in or to the hospital; someone caused the accident and then took the person. He can smell blood, so strong he feels like it's getting stuck in his throat, and he has to turn away.

Mr Argent approaches the wreck, bending down slightly to see through the broken windows, searching for a passenger or some sign of what happened here. Finding none, he comes back to Isaac.

"There are no blood smears or spatters," Isaac points out, puzzled. "So whoever was in the car didn't crawl or walk away."

"Something doesn't feel right." Mr Argent is already reaching for his gun, but Isaac doesn't know what he plans to do with it. The hunter does a sweep of the area, checking the car again, striding down the sidewalk, doing a full 360 before he comes back to Isaac. "I think this is a trap."

Isaac is quick to agree, and they're quick to head back to the car. As soon as they reach it, they know there's a problem. All four tires are slashed. After fear, Isaac's first reaction is to be impressed – someone must have slipped in and done it while they were busy with the accident. Whoever it is, they probably caused it. Whoever it is, they're probably watching. Instinctively he falls into wolf mode; he can't see anyone, so he tries to scent. But the smell of blood is so strong that he can't pick anything else out. He can't even smell Mr Argent, who's standing right beside him. But he can hear something. It's a twig snapping, a heartbeat spiking, a delighted giggle.

It's a death sentence.

Allison steps from the shadows, blood on her hands and an arrow poised in her bow. And without so much as a warning, she fires.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Cliffhangers are fun.**

**If you want to find out what happens, review. The more reviews, the quicker the update.**

**See you next time. ;)**


	32. Alpha pact

**Life is busy. Sorry for my absence. Thanks for the reviews. Enjoy the chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_**Then.**_

The words taste sour, lingering on her lips even as they're hovering in the air, and the nogitsune grins. _Delighted_. Lydia wants to take the words back as soon as she says them, but it's too late. The damage is done. A wave of despair washes over her, a physical force that propels her to her feet and toward the bathroom, where she rests with her hands on the edges of the sink and her hair hanging across her face. She brushes it away, glances at herself in the mirror, and shivers. She doesn't look different, not really. Maybe she's a little paler, maybe her eyes are a little darker, but it's still her.

Except.

The nogitsune had wanted to isolate her. To force her to declare her allegiance to him. She had thought it was a symbolic thing, but now she's not so sure. It feels almost like there's some kind of magical aspect to it, a binding metaphysical contract that ties her to her former enemy.

_"I'm not a part of Scott's pack anymore. I'm with you."_

He had told her to say it, and so she had, and in exchange she'd had a few short moments with Stiles. But now she worries it will be the last time she'll ever see him, and maybe it'll be the last time she sees any of the pack. It's just her and the demon and no one's coming to saving her. She doubts anyone even knows she's missing.

And if they knew that she'd chosen this path, they wouldn't want to save her anyway.

After a few minutes the nogitsune comes knocking at the door, and she answers. She'll always answer; she has no choice now. He guides her back to the living room and they sit again, and he watches her the whole time like he's waiting for her to take off.

She doesn't, but she wants to. The only thing stopping her is the fact that she knows the nogitsune could track her down without lifting a finger. (It should be concern that's stopping her, fear for the friends she'd leave behind, but they hardly even cross her mind.) So she sits with him and they talk.

It's just talking, just words that drift between them, but every one that passes through Lydia's lips feels like a betrayal, and every word of his that she accepts is another blow to the heart, another reminder that _this is how it's going to be now. _But gradually it bothers her less. He's not Stiles, and she knows that, so he doesn't pretend to be. He tells her stories of chaos and bloodshed, and at first she turns away but then it catches her attention and she even starts to ask questions, to try to understand.

The nogitsune is slightly reluctant at first, because he thinks she might be prying for information that she's then going to relay back to the pack, but it's not long before he recognizes her natural curiosity and comes to understand that she sincerely wants to know. So he keeps talking and she keeps listening, and after a while she even curls up on the couch, legs tucked up under her, arm resting on the back of the couch, head resting in her hands as she looks at him. She falls asleep listening to the sound of Stiles' voice.

When she wakes up, she's alone. Fear jolts through her and she sits bolt upright, and, like she has every morning for the past month, she braces herself for the onslaught of voices in her head. She waits, but they don't come. There's nothing but silence, like the nogitsune promised. Slowly she gets up, roaming through the house. There's nobody else here, not even in the basement which (it occurs to her with a morbid sort of fascination) would be the perfect place to hide someone. She's just coming back to the living room when the door swings open and in steps Stiles.

The face, the body, the voice – they're all Stiles'. But the smile, that's something the real Stiles would never wear. It's friendly enough, but it's tilted down slightly at the edges, suspicious and strangely lustful, and she has to look away before it burns a hole right through her. (Right through the place where her heart used to be.)

"Have you been up long?" he asks, locking the door behind him and hoisting a paper shopping bag further up in his arms.

"No," she says, honestly but too quickly, and he narrows his eyes.

"Okay," he says at last, and she follows him to the kitchen, not because she wants to but because there's nothing else she can do.

Lydia sits down at the table while Stiles starts putting the groceries away. It's all normal stuff – bread, milk, cheese, tomatoes. She watches with fascination, noting how _different_ he is. His movements are methodical, his expression calculating, no hint of nervousness or anxiety anywhere about him. He looks almost content, and Lydia can't remember the last time she saw that expression on Stiles' face. With a pang she wishes that Stiles was the one actually feeling it. For too long she'd watched him fall into darkness, and yet here she was, throwing herself headfirst into it.

"You hungry?" he asks as he puts away the last of the groceries, and Lydia nods. She hadn't realized until now, but she's ravenous.

Stiles smiles in response, such an easy casual gesture, but it makes her feel faintly sick. She grips the edge of the table and stares straight ahead, and her mind flicks briefly to Scott, and she wonders what he's doing now, whether he knows she's gone, whether he knows she's gone against his pack and she's not coming back. (Even if she wanted to, she can't. It's too late now.) Then she focuses her attention on Stiles again, and after a few minutes she hops off the seat and walks over to him.

They stand side by side at the counter, chopping bananas and apples, and if she doesn't look at him she can pretend that she's with the real Stiles, on one of the dates they were always meant to have but never got around to. She had always meant to tell him how she felt, she really had, but she never got the chance. Or at least, she never let herself have the chance. Stiles was in love with her; everyone knew it. She knew it, of course she did, and it hadn't taken much reflection to realize that she felt the same. But there had been Jackson, and then Aiden, not to mention the slew of supernatural foes they'd had to battle, and the battlefield had been no place for love.

Now she's allied with a demon, the very one who stole Stiles from her, and she's officially turned her back on the one person she had vowed to always be loyal to. She had never told Scott that, of course, but he knows. She is – was – part of his pack, and she didn't have to say it explicitly for it to be true. The pack was their family, and she hadn't needed to say the words for them to be real. She had always meant to follow Scott until the end, to be loyal to her packmates and to the cause, and she'd betrayed all of them.

She'd betrayed Stiles. He had never once let her down, had never turned his back on her, and yet she had allied herself with his tormentor. But there's no turning back, and part of her finds relief in that. The decision is made; no matter what follows, she can't take it back. She can't go back to the pack, and that makes what she has to do a lot easier.

About a week after she arrived at the hideout – more than long enough for Lydia's friends to have figured out something's up, to have gone on the hunt for her – Stiles comes to her with a proposal. It's simple, it's calculated, and it's something the old Lydia would have abhorred. But now when he says it, all she feels is excitement.

_"We need to get Scott out of the way."_

It's been a week, a lifetime, and she's ready. Her doubts have melted away, along with any residual feelings of loyalty to the pack. She's with the nogitsune; he protects her, but he also makes her strong. She feels more sure of herself, more confident, than she ever had with Scott. It's nothing that Stiles – the nogitsune – actually says, either. He doesn't give her inspirational pep talks or confidence-boosting compliments, like Scott and the real Stiles do (or like they used to do, anyway). He expresses himself in the way he looks at her, the way his hand lingers on her shoulder, the way his lips brush against her cheek.

They have separate beds, of course, but sometimes late at night she'll creep into his room and curl up beside him, and he'll wrap his arms around her. She'll fall asleep and she won't dream, because everything goes quiet in her mind and it's all so peaceful. His breath against her skin makes her dimly aware of the fact that this isn't how it was supposed to end up, but she doesn't mind. This is where she is, this is who she's with, and that's okay.

For a couple of days, she had been convinced that he was doing something to her. Potions in her food; a spell on her necklace. He had to be doing something, right? Why else would she have been acting this way, so unconcerned with the welfare of Scott and the others? How else could she be going to bed at night with a clear conscience and a light heart? This isn't her; it can't be.

But the thing is, this _is_ her.

As much as she hates to admit it, this is entirely her. The nogitsune isn't affecting her. She's not under his spell anymore, and he's not making her do anything. She'd gone with him of her own accord, and everything she's done since then has been her choice too. She's taken over kitchen duties, partly because Stiles goes out during the day to keep an eye on the pack, but mostly because she needs something to do. Cooking is soothing, and so is doing the dishes afterward. It's mechanical, repetitive, and she falls into a rhythm that keeps her from thinking too much.

But when Stiles says that they need to get rid of Scott – her alpha – the first thing she thinks is that she should have been the one to come up with the idea. Scott is their main enemy; he's the most powerful supernatural being in town who would want to stop the nogitsune. Even if the demon hadn't taken Stiles and even if Lydia hadn't gone over to his side, Scott would want to stop him. It's just who he is, it's what he does; what he was born to do.

So she offers the nogitsune a smile and says, "Leave it to me," and soon she's hitting the streets. Her heels click against the pavement, and Stiles' voice rings in her ears, and she doesn't feel a shred of guilt.

She finds Scott at the animal clinic, where Stiles had said he would be, but she doesn't approach him right away. Instead she tails him, at a distance, baseball bat swinging by her side. Every now and then she hits it against her leg, then ducking behind a tree and watching in amusement as Scott whirls around to search for the source of the sound. At one point he's approached by a stranger – a girl – but he quickly disentangles himself from her and continues on his way. Lydia keeps following him, waiting for her chance, and finally it comes.

Now.

He doesn't see it coming. He's on the ground before he even sees her. But then he does see her, and there's an accusation in his eyes, but it's softened by a stupid kind of sympathy. Lydia bites back a laugh. Poor Scott and his optimistic outlook. Even when he chokes out "Why are you doing this?" there's an unspoken element to it, the reminder that _it's not too late _and _you don't have to do this._

But it is, and she does.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Hope you enjoyed it, don't forget to review.**


	33. Venemous

**Sweet Jesus, guys, why did I decide I wanted to write stories? 120K words later and I've finally finished NaNo, and I still have a bunch of fics I want to work on but I'm completely wiped. But that's what the Christmas break is for, right?**

**Anyway. Thanks as always for the reviews. From here on out every chapter is a 'now' chapter, and things are about to escalate. Enjoy!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Somewhere deep down inside, Allison is aware that this is wrong. But on a level closer to the surface, it feels so _right_. It's not the first time she's gone against Isaac like this, but back then it hadn't been clear (not even to herself) who the real villain was. Everything was gray, murky, dangerous, but now it's crystal clear. She's the villain, and she's okay with that.

The first arrow misses, but it was meant to. Allison watches as her father and her boyfriend dive away from the arrow, hitting the pavement with barely a second to brace themselves for the impact. She just stands in the shadows and watches, amused. There's no rush, no sense of urgency. They don't stand a chance against her, so she can take her time. Have a little fun.

Something had gone wrong earlier. Horribly, terribly wrong. She's not sure what it is, but it had spooked the nogitsune. It's something to do with the pack, of course it is, but she doesn't know what. But Isaac and her father probably do. In fact, she'd bet their lives on it.

Her father is the first to recover, and he gets to his feet with the kind of agility that Allison used to admire. Now she's one step ahead of him, and the instant his head jerks up and he meets her eyes, the second arrow slams into his shoulder. At first he's comically frozen, mouth open in horror and a silent cry of pain, and then he lets out a choked groan and staggers backward.

"Allison!" Isaac calls, the word caught somewhere between a snarl and a plea. He's not in his wolf form yet, but his claws are out and his eyes are blazing. "Stop."

Allison cocks her head and smiles at him. The calmness in her manner and expression isn't faked; she's never felt more in control. "Why?"

Isaac just gapes at her, and she uses the opportunity to launch another arrow. But the werewolf's quick, and he ducks out of the way. The arrow sails harmlessly onto the road, skidding to a stop not far from the wreck. Isaac's gaze follows its path and lands on the mess of a car.

"What did you do?" he asks, but Allison isn't looking at him. She's watching her father yank the arrow out of his shoulder and press his hand against the wound. The bloody arrow falls to the ground and her father closes his eyes, for just a second, and then he's back.

She turns to Isaac now, and again she gets the sensation that something is wrong. No, not something. _Everything_. But she honestly can't tell if she's worried about her former pack or her new family – the nogitsune and Lydia – so she doesn't try to examine it. "What do you think I did?"

By the look in his eyes, she knows he has a good idea of what she's done. His expression is one of disappointment mingled with – for her, for him, for the missing passenger – she doesn't care. "You caused this." He says it like a fact, not an accusation; props to him.

Allison hums, thoughtful and unconcerned. Her eyes flick over to her father, who's squaring his shoulders and evidently running through battle plans in his mind. She bites back a laugh; fearless hunter he is, murderer he's not. He would never be able to kill her, especially because they know she's not possessed. He might be willing to take down Stiles if it meant destroying the nogitsune, but killing Allison would go against everything he stands for. She's not innocent anymore, but she hasn't killed anyone. Yet.

"Allison," Isaac says again, pleading. He takes a step forward and she points her arrow warningly at him. He pulls up short but the fire in his eyes doesn't dim. "What did you _do_?"

She encompasses the street with a sweeping gesture. "There was an accident," she says, mocking him. He winces. "In case you're wondering, the passenger's okay. It's a pretty quiet street, but one of the neighbors was home. He took the guy to the hospital. The police should be here any minute now, actually."

Isaac and her father share a look, clearly wondering whether or not to trust her. She's telling the truth, but it doesn't particularly worry her whether they believe it or not. When Isaac turns back to her there's a flicker of fear in his eyes, an anticipatory aura flickering around him. She latches onto it, and she pulls.

"It wasn't him I was after," Allison says, and to her delight all the blood drains from Isaac's face. "I was actually looking for you two."

Her father, still pressing his hand against the wound, grits his teeth. "What do you want?"

"I just want to talk." With light, confident footsteps she crosses the space between them. Neither of them make a move toward her, because they all know who has the power in this situation. They know better than to try to take her on, at least at this stage, so they wait. Silent, wary. Doomed.

"I've never been much of a talker," Isaac says gruffly. "Can I interest you in some hand-to-hand combat instead?"

Allison laughs. "Tempting, but no." Then she looks him up and down and winks. "Maybe we can play later, but for now there's work to do."

"Allison -" her father starts, but she cuts him off with a single look.

"If you don't mind," she says curtly, "I think I'd like to be the one doing the talking."

Apparently they don't mind, because neither of them interrupt again.

"I'm going to give you one chance," she says, loading the next arrow onto her bow. "Whoever gives me the answer first doesn't get shot. Are we clear? And -" she goes on sternly when it looks like her father is about to interrupt "- if neither of you answer, you both get shot. Got it?"

The other two share a look, and (bless their hearts) try to find a way out of this. But there is no way out of it; Allison had made sure of that. After a few beats, Isaac lowers his head. "What's your question?"

Allison aims her arrow at both of them, not sure which one she's going to have to shoot. (She kind of hopes it's both of them, because that would be a kick.) "Something happened to the nogitsune. Do you know what it was?"

Her father's eyes widen and that's enough of an answer – enough for her, but not for him. Neither of them answer – it's either shock or solidarity and she doesn't really care which one – so she follows through on her promise. Lightning-quick, she shoots. One of the arrows hits her father in the leg, the other embeds itself in Isaac's stomach. Both of them look startled, which is strange because she had explicitly told them she was going to do it. She's not unreasonable, after all.

"Too slow," she says, loading the next arrow and savoring the sound of their pain. "Let's try this again," she says, aiming the arrow at them again. She swings it between the two of them, thinking, focusing, and then aims it directly at Isaac; the weaker of the two. She could break him so easily, and part of her really wants to. (The other part knows that now's not the time.) "What did you do?"

It's her dad who snaps first, but not in the way she expected. He doesn't try to plead, he doesn't break down and tell her what she wants to know. He pulls out his gun.

After a faint jolt of alarm, all Allison feels is amusement. Does he really think he can kill his own daughter? "Be careful where you point that thing," she says with a laugh. "You could hurt someone."

"Not if you don't force me to." The gun is pointed at her heart, his hand steady even as blood still pulses from his shoulder. But his eyes aren't hard, there's no steely glint in them – he doesn't see her as the enemy. He sees her as a victim, and his pain stems from the fact that he can't save her. But the thing is, she never wanted him to.

She considers him. For a horrible second she considers throwing down her bow and going with him, but it's way too late for that. Even as she thinks it, something tightens in her chest, compressing until it's hard to breathe, and she knows that surrender isn't an option. So she points her arrow at Isaac and says, "If you don't drop it, I'll shoot him."

Isaac lets out something that's almost a whimper, but slightly more dignified. She can see the effects of the arrows spreading through him already; she knows what's happening, even though the other two haven't worked it out yet. It won't be long until they do, but by then it will be too late. Allison holds up three fingers, and then very slowly lowers one. Her father hesitates. She lowers another. He tightens his grip on the gun. She lowers her final finger.

And then she launches another arrow. This one hits Isaac in the leg and it knocks him off balance. He tumbles to the ground with something that really is a whimper now. This is all so familiar; it's exactly what she'd done with Boyd and Erica. (She feels a shiver as she thinks of them, because they're both dead and she's always scared she's going to be next.) She had felt confident then, but now she feels invincible.

Taking the hint, her father unloads his gun and places it gently on the ground in front of him. Allison kicks it away with the toe of her boot, but she's in no mood for mercy now. Before her father can even protest her next arrow hits him, speeding into his arm. It shouldn't be enough to take him down, but with the added effects of the first arrow, it is. He falls.

Two of the most important people in her life are now collapsed on the ground in front of her, and she can't hide her smile. Then she remembers why she's here, and her gaze becomes hard again. "You're going to tell me, one way or another. The only difference is how much it's going to hurt."

Isaac groans, and she thinks (hopes) he's going to start begging but he doesn't. Instead he pulls the arrow out of his leg, but it's too late to be any use. Paralysis is already setting in, and she can see that they've figured it out now. Her father looks stricken, like the world is actually ending and it's his fault, and Isaac looks close to tears. Neither of them look like they're going to tell her what she wants to know.

But they do.

It takes some not-so-gentle persuasion, a few well-timed threats, another arrow or two, but eventually they tell her everything. The sacrifice. The Sheriff's death. The closed door. The fact that they thought they were going to be able to save Scott.

"You know," she says absently as she collects the broken arrows – careful not to touch the tips, which were laced with a very strong and mildly painful paralytic – and watches the two of them try to move, "this would have been a lot easier if you had both just cooperated in the first place."

Isaac looks up at her, unable to move, barely able to breathe. But he can speak, and what he says is, "This isn't you."

People keep telling her that, but the thing is, this is her. This is who she is now, and she's not going to let anyone tell her otherwise. Realizing that it's just about time to report back to Stiles, she doesn't respond. "The paralysis should wear off in a half hour," she says as she tucks the arrows back into the quiver. The smell of blood lingers around her, but it doesn't bother her. "Until then, just hang tight." She pauses, looking at both of them in turn, and then she smiles. "Good luck," she says, a final taunt – because she knows they can't beat her, and she thinks they know it too – and then she walks away. Slowly, because they can't do a damn thing to stop her.

She's gone a couple of blocks when she realizes that she's not alone. Hearing footsteps, she turns. Surveys the streets. Locks eyes with the only other person in sight.

Not who she expected.

Allison sucks in a breath. "What the hell," she says slowly, "are you doing?"

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**If you can correctly guess who she's talking to, I'll send you a snippet from next chapter. Don't forget to review, everyone, and I'll see you next time!**

**#ShadowsOut**


	34. Chaos rising

**My poor old Satellite is dying so there was a moment there when I wasn't sure I'd be able to update again for a long while. But tonight I managed to revive my computer long enough to post this chapter, so enjoy!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

The thing that makes this particularly entertaining is that it was unexpected. Lydia – or rather, the demon who had taken over her body – is delighted. She knows (and can feel) how much Lydia cares about Stiles, so for the Other (their kind don't usually bother with names) to have dangled him in front of her like this, especially so soon after she took possession of the girl, it must have taken a lot. She'll have to find a way to pay him back.

Stiles is still on the ground in front of her, sobbing into the leaves. She wonders how long it's been since he was allowed to control his own body; his movements are jerky, he's unsure of himself, he keeps blinking like he's expecting the sky to fall down on him. And then he looks up at her and she can see the exact moment his heart breaks. If possible, he looks even more despondent. All hope fades from his eyes, leaves them empty, leaves him a shell of his former self. So she can't break him. But she can still have a little fun.

"Get up," she instructs. He doesn't move, doesn't tear his eyes away from her. In the back of her mind she can hear Lydia begging, pleading, _no please don't just leave him alone, _but she pays her captive no mind. She fixes her eyes on the broken boy in front of her, and when he still doesn't move she hauls him to his feet and slams him against the nearest tree.

He lets out a choked sob and finally looks away, his eyes searching the ground as if he's looking for a hole to swallow him up. But there's nothing; no release, no relief, no escape. Just Stiles and the demon in his lover's body. She smiles at him, and Lydia's screams form a pleasant background melody.

"She loves you," she says. "You know that, right?"

His eyes snap up to hers and he silently begs for something, anything. She sifts through Lydia's mind and comes up with a word._ Interrogatory_. That's how he used to be, of course, but he's not like that anymore. He can never be like that again. Interrogatory is replaced by despairing. He's not questioning anymore; he's begging.

"You didn't know," she says, realizing. Lydia had never told him, but she thought he knew. They'd kissed, hadn't they? She was his anchor, wasn't she? It's pathetic. She's not sure whose idea it is – hers or Lydia's – or whose impulse propels her forward, but she's still holding him up against the tree and suddenly she's kissing him. He's not kissing back but he's also not pulling away.

She does, eventually, but not before she's taken a piece of him, claimed a part of his soul, left her mark. Her nails had dug into his neck, just slightly, and now he rubs the little half-moon marks and stares at her in horror. She can hear Lydia more clearly now, can hear the words she's hurling at her.

_Stay away from him._

_Don't hurt him._

_Stop it, please._

**_Please_**_._

"Why did you do that?" he asks, and even his voice is broken. He's leaning back against the tree, the only thing keeping him on his feet, and he looks like he might pass out at any moment.

"Because she wanted me to." It's not that much of a lie; not quite white but gray. Lydia had wanted it; not like this, but she did. She does. She's wanted it for so long that it actually physically hurts her heart.

"No." Stiles looks away, his back sliding down the tree until he's sitting down, resting against it, the weight of the world too much for his poor old soul.

"You liked it, didn't you?" she asks, and she's talking to both of them. Neither respond, but that's okay. She doesn't need them to. "She's screaming," she goes on, using Lydia's voice to speak and her hands to pull Stiles to his feet, "she's screaming for you. Can you hear her?"

He shakes his head, trying to argue, trying to block her out; she doesn't know and she doesn't care. For her, it's not about the violence. The Other is all about the chase, the kill, the blood and guts and the _heart_ of everything. He would rather run someone through with a sword than do what she does – twisting feelings, thoughts, loyalties, melting and moulding and recreating. Or destroying.

The latter seems more appealing in this case, but they still need Stiles. For the moment, anyway. Besides, it's fun to keep him around.

_Don't touch him. Don't touch him again or I swear to god I'll –_

She tunes the banshee out. Her rage will do no good, and in fact it's almost distracting at the moment. She wants to focus on Stiles. He's only human – no match for them, no match for the werewolves, no place in the pack or in the world – but he's got _something_. Not quite fire but a spark, something waiting to ignite, waiting for the right stimulus. Waiting for her. For chaos and darkness, the kind that consumes and destroys.

If he's lucky he'll rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

If he's even luckier he'll die before that happens.

For a while there, she had been anxious. Whatever had happened had been big; it would have to be, for it to knock the magic out of Derek and the twins simultaneously. She wonders where they went, but it doesn't matter much; with the amount of residual poison in their veins, they'll be out of commission for a long time yet. Scott's still out of the game, and she doubts that Isaac is in any fit state to do something so powerful. Which means it wasn't any of them – it probably wasn't the pack. (Not that there's really a pack left to speak of, anyway.) The parents? Kira? Someone new?

When Allison gets back they'll go through it, and try to figure out how to proceed. But for now, she has Stiles. His heart is already broken, but he's still got a scrap of spirit left in him. Not much, but enough to make it interesting. She stays with him for fifteen minutes, progressively breaking him down. Chipping away at him bit by bit. She knows all of his insecurities, and all Lydia's too, and she can combine them skilfully enough to chisel holes in Stiles' heart. She's not much of a carpenter so she doesn't try to put them back together again, but she enjoys the destruction.

By the time she's finished, there's not much left of Stiles. The Other picks up the pieces and shoves them back in, and then it's not Stiles looking back at her. He still looks pale, washed-out, worn-out, but he's no longer unsure or insecure or so terribly hopeless. He rolls his shoulders, catches her in a kiss, steps back and surveys the surrounds. He seems refreshed, rejuvenated, like watching her with Stiles had been energizing. It's probably not that, she knows; it's hard to keep control of a host's mind, especially when the intent is to be in full control of the body at all times, so it's a relief when he can relinquish some of that control, even if only for a little while.

She considers letting Lydia go for a while, but it's too risky. The banshee would probably find a way to mess everything up. So she keeps her locked up, and Lydia keeps screaming, and they all go back to the hideout (some more willingly than others).

There's been no word from Allison yet, which means they're no closer to understanding what went wrong. She knows she should be worried about that, but she's not. Allison will come back, and then they'll make a plan. She's not the one in charge, and she knows that; so if he's not worried, she's not either.

Lydia herself is beyond worried. She's frantic; it's quite amusing really.

"Shall we pay our guest a visit?" Stiles suggests with the hint of a sly smile, the kind that makes Lydia's heart catch in her throat. (She doesn't know whose feelings they are but she doesn't care.)

She takes his proffered hand and follows him down to the basement. Scott is there, and he shrinks away as he sees them. But their attention isn't on him; not yet anyway. They sit down side by side on one of the lower steps and talk.

Scott can hear them, but he doesn't make a sound – not at first. But Lydia focuses more on him as their conversation progresses, and she notices that he is reacting, as much as he probably wishes he weren't. When Stiles says something about Derek and the twins being missing, Scott flinches; when Lydia reminds him about the fact that Allison had briefly come to her senses tonight, Scott lets out a moan.

At this, Lydia turns to him. She taps her nails against her knee, surveying him impassively. She can feel the real Lydia stirring, screaming, crying – she still hasn't broken yet, she's resisting, and _god_ that makes it fun – and she tunes in to her, feels her emotions coursing through the both of them, draining one and nourishing the other. It's not long before Lydia slumps against the walls of the mind room, completely spent, but still feebly pleading. The demon in Lydia's skin focuses her attention outward again.

Stiles is with Scott now, sitting down beside him, like they're actually still friends. Scott is staring at him, doe-wide eyes, mouth slightly parted like he either wants to scream or cry. He decides against both and just rests his head against the cold wall, closing his eyes, like the effort of simply _being_ is too much.

She's not surprised. The amount of wolfsbane they've pumped into the room would probably be enough to kill a beta, and it wouldn't be long until they killed an alpha too. But Scott, he's special. He's a true alpha, and that makes him different. It makes him stronger – and stupider. He's always looking out for others, even now when he's the one in the most danger. (Except perhaps for Isaac, because god knows what he's up to or if he's even strong enough to break free.)

He looks even worse than Stiles does, even worse than the real Lydia does. He's wasting away before their eyes, and something in her regrets that. From the way Lydia thinks about him, she was under the impression that Scott would never be one to fade away; he would go out with a bang, in a fiery blaze of glory. Probably saving a homeless kitten or something. But here he is, locked up and losing the fight, and there's something almost tragic about it – and not in a good way.

"You don't have to do this," Scott mumbles, but it's almost like he's talking to himself.

Lydia recalls everything she's learned about werewolves and the supernatural (most of it taken from the real Lydia's mind, of course – that girl is a walking library). The strength of the wolf is in the pack; and Scott's all alone. She can't (but wants to) imagine the kind of pain he's going through. He's been split off from the people he lives for, the people he'd die for, and now he's dying all alone and there's no one left to save him. She can feel the real Lydia trembling, shaking, and it actually pushes against her skin and makes her feel tight, pressed, almost panicky.

Without thinking she reaches for Scott's hand, needing his pain, his turmoil, needing _something_ to keep her going, but it's not what she expected. There's a rush of soothing pain, enough to calm her aching bones and racing blood, but then it starts to leach away. Not just the pain that she'd taken from Scott, but the pain she had before. She's not sure he knows what he's doing, but he doesn't shy away from doing it. He takes her pain, and for the exact opposite reason that she'd taken his.

She jerks away, unsettled, and she catches Stiles' eye. He starts to say something, but then he just shakes his head and stands up. He knows what just happened, and he knows it's better not to mention it.

"Come on," he says, holding out his hand to her. "We should go."

She follows, like she always does, but for the first time she thinks about what she's leaving behind.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Morally ambivalent villains are fun. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time. (Don't worry, I've backed up this story, so even if Satellite does bite the dust I'll still have a copy of this fic, for those few of you still reading it.)**


	35. The overlooked

**Hey guys! I hope you're all doing well and that 2015 is off to a good start. Here's the next chapter, no need to drag out this AN for long. Enjoy!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Although Kira is moving as quickly as she can, she knows she's going to be too late. She's been ten steps behind this whole game, and even now that she knows the rules she still can't figure out a way to _win_. Her feet pound against the pavement, a jarring rhythm that makes her head ring, because she's trying but she's still not going to be enough. It was just lucky that she'd thought to go to Deaton. She's been on the outside this whole time, on the periphery of the pack but not quite part of it, and she'd somehow assumed that they'd be able to defeat the nogitsune without much help from her. She'd been good for information, the odd tactical talk, but she wasn't meant to be involved in the final fight.

But when Scott went missing, she knew she had to do something. She'd gone to everywhere she could think of – his house, the school, Allison's, the woods. She couldn't find him, and she didn't know who she could go to for help. Stiles, Lydia, Allison – they were all gone. She couldn't get a hold of the twins, and she didn't think that approaching Derek or Peter by herself would be particularly wise. And when she realized that Isaac was MIA as well, her mind flung itself into high gear and finally came up with a solution.

Deaton. The druid. Scott had talked about him a lot; he'd told her about everything that had happened before she came to Beacon Hills, all the evils they'd defeated and the friends they'd lost, and Deaton had been a big part of that. So she'd gone to him, and she'd found him – and she'd found the remains of a disaster.

It had taken a while to understand what had happened, because Deaton was still tense and Mrs McCall was almost hysterical, and then Kira became almost hysterical when she saw the _body_ lying in the ice-filled tub. In her frantic state she had thought that maybe Deaton and Mrs McCall had changed sides too, and that they'd done something to the Sheriff, but they'd explained that no, that wasn't the case. It made her feel better, but only slightly.

When she realized just how dire the situation was, she'd offered her help. She may be new to the supernatural, but she's still part of it. Foxfire is in her blood; power hums through her veins. Maybe she can't control it just yet, but that doesn't mean she's useless. It had taken some convincing – and some flashy displays with her sword – but eventually Deaton had allowed her to help.

So here she is, tracking down Isaac and Mr Argent, who are tracking down Scott, who had been tracking down the nogitsune. When she first moved to Beacon Hills, she'd gone for a few walks late at night. It's a peaceful time, quiet and soft and gentle, and it had never seemed dangerous to her. But now she knows what lurks in the dark, and it does seem dangerous. She hasn't said anything to anyone, but she's terrified all. the. time. But the others aren't – every single member of the pack is strong, fearless, dedicated. (She had also thought them infallible at one point, but recent events had proven that wrong.)

She can't keep up, and she won't back down. So she keeps running.

Like she'd anticipated, she's too late. The anticipation doesn't lessen the jolt of fear and guilt that threatens to crush her as she comes upon the wreck. The first thing she sees is the blood; the second thing is the bodies.

Her heart slams to a stop and her feet falter and she just stares in horror at the scene before her. It's deathly silent, until there's a low moan. This jerks her into action and she stumbles forward, dropping to her knees beside Mr Argent. He blinks up at her, but he doesn't move.

"Are you okay?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

"Yeah," he grunts, like the word actually causes him pain. "You need to go find Allison."

Kira hesitates, waiting for the hunter to pull himself to his feet and lead the way, but the only things that move are his eyes. She realizes. "Did Allison do this?" Her eyes sweep down his body, taking in the arrows sticking from him, the rigid way he's lying. A faint tang lingers in the air, something vaguely familiar; she remembers Allison. It smells like a poison that she'd seen Allison use once.

"Yes," he says, the pain in his voice is even stronger. Kira feels her heart break for him, but they both push their feelings to the side. They can deal with that later. "You need to find her."

"Which way did she go?" Kira rocks back on her heels and looks around, but there's no sign of the hunter.

"That way," Isaac says, and she looks over to him. He's lying perfectly still. He groans, apparently remembering that he can't move. "Toward the train station," he clarifies. "She only just left, so you can probably catch her."

Indecision freezes Kira to the spot. She knows she should go after Allison, but it looks like Mr Argent and Isaac could be badly hurt. She doesn't want to just leave them, but she also doesn't want to let Allison get away. She wishes Scott were here; he always knows what to do. But he's not, so she makes her decision. "I'll be back," she says, and Mr Argent gives her what seems to be an approving look.

"Be careful," Isaac calls as she starts to jog away, and within a minute both of them are far behind her. She slows her steps as she reaches the next block, focusing on a dark shape up ahead. She can't tell whether it's moving away from her or toward her, and she doesn't know what it is. She wishes she'd brought her sword, but it would have slowed her down – and been hard to explain should she run into any other pedestrians. She feels strangely bare without it, even though up until a couple of weeks ago she'd never even touched a sword.

Two blocks away from the wreck, she catches up. Kira doesn't even have time to start to think of a plan of attack before Allison is turning around, seeing her, freezing. Allison narrows her eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

_Good question_, Kira thinks, but she doesn't say anything. She and Allison are standing about a foot apart, but suddenly it doesn't feel like far enough. With one well-timed lunge Allison could hit her, could know her to the ground and kill her without so much as a second thought. She's still adjusting to this, because not long ago she had actually considered Allison a friend; they were meant to be on the same side of this fight. Now they're on opposite sides, a hunter and a kitsune at odds, and Kira is horribly aware that she's no match for the other girl.

"Did Deaton send you?" Allison asks.

Kira nods instinctively, surprised by the accurate guess. Then again, there aren't many other people who could have told her where to find Isaac and Mr Argent; there is no pack anymore, after all.

"Did you do something to upset him?" Allison has recovered from her instant of shock and is back to being cold and distant – and unnervingly amused.

"Wh-what?" As subtly as she can, she reaches into her pocket. Her fingers brush up against a small vial, and she slowly pulls it out.

"He sent you after me," Allison says, unaware of Kira's intentions. "He must have known it was a suicide mission. Is there any particular reason he wants you dead?"

Kira doesn't answer. Even if she wanted to, she can't; her lips won't move, her tongue won't work, her heart won't stop hurting. She knows it's not true, that Deaton hadn't sent her on a suicide mission – for a start, he'd sent her after Isaac and Mr Argent, not Allison, and also she'd had to _convince_ him to let her do so – but it still gets to her.

"Personally," Allison says when Kira doesn't speak, "I don't really care whether you live or die. So if you want to walk away now, I won't stop you. Just stay out of my way."

God, it's tempting. A month ago Kira would have taken her up on the offer, would have turned her back and walked away, but she can't. Not now, not when everything is so horribly wrong. As much as she hates to admit it, she might be the last line of resistance. She owes it to the others to fight – even if she fails, she has to try.

"Huh." Allison raises her eyebrows. "I guess you've got some fight in you after all."

"I have more than that," Kira murmurs, and Allison tilts her head in confusion. The kitsune wraps her hand around the vial, preparing herself. She doesn't want to do this – she _hates_ that she has to do this – but it might be the only way to save Allison. And if she can get to Allison, they can start working on saving the rest of the pack. One step at a time.

"You know you're like him, right?" Allison says smoothly, and Kira loses her train of thought. "The nogitsune, I mean. You're just like him. You may not want to admit it, but you can't deny it."

"I don't need to deny it," Kira says, gathering up her courage and wrapping it around herself, "because it's not true."

Allison laughs, a harsh sound that causes the hair on Kira's neck to stand up. "Yes it is. He's a kitsune too. Manipulating, tricking, hurting people – that's what you're all about."

_No_. She can't quite form the word. Hadn't Scott told her that when he saw her – the real her, the fox aura around her – he didn't think it looked evil? She trusts him, she does, and she's never seen him be wrong. If he says she's not evil, then it's true. And she doesn't _feel_ evil. She doesn't want to hurt people; she wants to help.

Then again, so had Stiles.

"Ah." Allison smiles, knowing she's got her. "You may not be that way yet, but it'll come. And why try to fight it?"

_I can't_. Again, she can't say it. But the words thunder in her head and she can't shake them. But then she thinks of Scott and the rest of the pack, of how it used to be before the nogitsune came along. Maybe they can have that again; maybe they can help her control her powers. Maybe she doesn't need to hurt anyone.

Except this once.

"I can't let you do this, Allison," she says, purposefully avoiding the question. "Just come back with me, and Deaton can help."

"I don't _want_ help," Allison says, voice clipped, posture upright – perfectly calm and in control. "And you're starting to get on my nerves. Out of the way, kitsune."

"No." This time the word does come, bubbles up from her lips, spills over. Allison stares at her. "I'm not letting you go."

"You don't have a choice." Annoyance flashes through Allison's voice, and Kira feels a hint of fear. But she doesn't back down; she can't. "One more chance, Kira. Get out of my way, or I'm going to have to hurt you."

Kira squares her shoulders, grits her teeth, and meets Allison's eyes. Before she even has time to tell herself to be strong, Allison lunges toward her. Kira darts out of the way, spins around. Feels pain explode across her face. Her hand flies to her cheek and she stares up at Allison, who's preparing to hit her again. This time Kira's quicker, and she sweeps Allison's legs out from under her. The hunter falls, hitting the ground with a heavy thud, and Kira straddles her, pinning her down. She hates herself for this, but it's necessary.

Allison struggles, annoyance and surprise battling in her face, and then it turns to concern as Kira pulls the cork out of the vial and pulls a short dagger out from her boot. At this Allison becomes even more alarmed, but Kira is still too quick. She dips the knife in the clear liquid, and then she leans down. "I'm sorry," she says, and she really is, and then she takes the knife and stabs it into Allison's shoulder.

The scream is almost deafening and Kira finds herself being flung to the side. She hits the ground and lets out a grunt of surprise and pain, but she forces herself to sit up. Allison pulls the knife from her shoulder and looks like she's about to throw it at Kira. Then it falls from her hand and she's shaking, and Kira scrambles to her feet and backs up. She watches in horror as Allison starts convulsing, her breathing becoming shallow and shudders wracking her body.

Just as Kira is starting to think she did something wrong, something goes right. Allison leans to the side, looking like she's struggling to breathe, her eyes watering. And then she spits out a small black fly, stark against the pale pavement. Allison keeps coughing, her hand on her chest like her heart is actually hurting, and Kira just stands there desperately hoping everything is going to be okay.

Finally, Allison looks up at her. Kira braces herself for another attack, suddenly convinced that it didn't work and that Allison is still under the influence of the nogitsune's magic. There's anger burning in Allison's eyes – she looks set to kill. But then that fades and there's only desolation, and somehow that's even worse.

"Oh god," Allison whimpers, her shoulders sagging and her breath catching in her throat, "what have I _done_?"

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Please review, and I hope to see you soon for the next chapter!**


	36. Master plan

**Thanks for the reviews, and a massive welcome to Silverdawn2167. It's people like you who keep me writing, and I really, really appreciate your support. Also, shameless self-promo, I'm a diehard Stydia shipper and they're the main couple I write about, so if you have a spare moment you might like to check out some of my other stories. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

It bothers him.

And more than that, he's bothered by the _fact_ that it bothers him. He'd underestimated Scott, and now he's going to have to rectify the problem. Stiles and Lydia are sitting in the living room, side by side and in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The real Stiles is louder now too, re-energized by what Scott had done back in the basement, and it takes a lot of effort to drown him out.

Damn Scott. Damn him and his pack and his selflessness and his goddamn heart. Lydia had been trying to torture him and he'd taken pain from her – even knowing that it wasn't really _Lydia_ feeling the pain, it was the being in her body. The one who had stolen her from him. In all his time here, Scott hasn't given up. He hasn't betrayed his friends, he hasn't begged for mercy, he hasn't turned on his pack. He's lost his spark, but his heart is still warm.

_That's what I've been trying to tell you._

The voice is in his head but he closes his eyes, trying to block it out. But Stiles keeps talking.

_You can't beat him. Scott is going to find a way to win. He's going to save us._

He opens his eyes again and shakes his head, speaks his response aloud. "It's too late, Stiles," he says calmly, and he can feel the boy shiver with fear. "He's not going to save you. Nobody is."

The real Stiles falls silent, but he hasn't given up. He just knows to pick his battles, and in this case silence is the best defense. Stiles – the demon in his body – sighs. He turns to Lydia, who's filing her nails and humming some kind of pop ballad. "Is she giving you grief?" he asks.

Lydia looks at him, her humming slowing down but not stopping. "No," she says at last. "She's quiet, actually. Almost cooperative."

_No. Lydia would never give up. You're lying._

He smirks. "My host seems to think that you're not being entirely truthful."

She shrugs, unconcerned, and returns to her nails. "Suit yourself. I have nothing to prove."

Silence falls over them again; even the real Stiles is quiet. n-Stiles gets to his feet and starts pacing, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. This isn't like him; he's normally totally in control, aware of his surroundings, able to isolate minute details and not be overwhelmed by the bigger picture. But the big picture isn't looking so good anymore: he's lost the twins, he's lost Derek, and even Scott isn't broken yet. And Allison still hasn't come back.

"Scott," he says abruptly, spinning around to face Lydia. "He's a true alpha, isn't he?"

She rolls her eyes in a very Lydia-like gesture. "Yes," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's your point?"

"Alphas are there to keep the pack together." He starts pacing again now, his eyes on the floor and his mind racing. "So maybe the reason we haven't been able to conquer the pack entirely is because we didn't go for him first – we didn't try to cut them off at the head."

"_Cut_?" she echoes, demure. "Now you're talking. What did you have in mind?"

"We have two options," he says, glancing up at her as he passes. "We kill him, which would mean the rest of the pack has no alpha. Or we try to turn him against them. If we can get him to do the same thing Lydia did – disavow the pack – then we might be able to break their bond."

"And then we can just pick them off one by one," she says, catching on. She gets to her feet and walks over to him, seemingly suddenly excited. "_Perfect_."

"So which option do you prefer?" he asks, as she twines her fingers with his and looks into his eyes. This isn't love, and they both know it. Stiles and Lydia do love each other, but the nogitsunes aren't even capable of the emotion. But lust; well, that's another matter entirely.

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "Which option will mean I get to make him scream more?"

Stiles grins. "Why don't we go and find out?"

They start to move, but Lydia pulls up short. Her head tilts to the side and she gets a quizzical look on her face, and then she says, "Hm."

On edge at once, Stiles tenses. "What is it?"

"Lydia has a proposition to make," she says, still holding his hand, but more loosely now, like she could drift away at any moment. "She says she'll stop fighting me if we let Scott live."

Stiles snorts. "That alpha has them wrapped around his little claw," he says. "They all think they can save him. They'd give their lives for him. And more than that, they'd give their lives to _us_."

Lydia turns back to face him. Shadows play across her face, making her look almost otherworldly. "It would be nice to have some quiet in my head," she says. "How about this, then. We leave Scott alone tonight, and you give me a break. Deal?"

There's silence, and Stiles watches as a number of expressions flit across Lydia's face – amusement, frustration, confusion. Then she smiles, and her eyes lose that distant look and she's his again.

"Lydia has agreed to be quiet until we decide what to do about Scott," she announces.

_You can't kill him. I won't let you._

Oh, Stiles and his meaningless threats. He wonders if the boy knows just how helpless he is. "So how do we spend the intervening time, then?"

Lydia's triumphant smile softens into something more seductive. She takes a step back toward him, pulling him closer, resting his hand on her hip. "I have a few ideas," she murmurs.

They're the kind of ideas that leave both of them hot and sweaty, and they help to relieve the tension. It also helps that Stiles is fighting the whole time. He had always wanted to know what Lydia tasted like, to know what she felt like under him, and now here's his chance. It's just a shame he's not the one steering the wheel. Afterwards, while Lydia is pulling her clothes back on, Stiles – the nogitsune – breathes in deeply and savours the moment. The real chaos is about to begin, and there won't be many more moments like this. But that's okay, because what's coming up is going to be even better.

He starts to ask Lydia what she thinks Isaac is doing, but then he stops. Something stabs into his heart, tightening his chest, and he suddenly loses the ability to breathe. Lydia stares at him in alarm as he lurches from the bed, falling against the wall and struggling to breathe. He waves her away when she tries to approach, and he sends his senses out to find the source of the problem.

Allison.

He's lost her.

Stiles can picture the fly lying on the pavement, mixed with blood and saliva, the depressing remnant of what had once been a grand plan. Allison isn't his anymore; she's going back to the pack. He can't tell details – where she is, who she's with, how it happened – but he knows the last of his flies have now run out. A rush of energy comes back to him, actually knocking him off his feet. It's too much, too soon, too wild. His breathing is ragged and, for the first time, he's scared. They should have killed her when they had the chance. Now they're going to have to do it anyway. And then, no matter what Lydia or Stiles says, they're going to kill Scott.

Lightheaded, Stiles leans against the wall, eyes closed and mind spinning. The real Stiles is too shocked to say anything, so the only sound is the rushing of blood through his veins. Then Lydia moves toward him, sinks to her knees in front of him, cups his face in her hand. He can't hear her but he can read the words on her lips. _Are you okay?_

Stiles starts to nod but then he shakes his head, unable to explain. It takes a few minutes for the sensations to fade, for his normal rhythms to fall back into place, and even then there's still something _off_ about it all. He feels agitated, anxious, uncertain – this must be what it's like to be Stiles.

Pushing the feelings away, he gets to his feet and glances at Lydia. "Come on. We need to go."

She hurriedly shoves her feet into the nearest shoes and then shrugs into a jacket, and in under a minute they're out of the house. She doesn't ask what's wrong or where they're going, and he doesn't offer any explanations. He just drives. If he focuses, really focuses, he should be able to find her. His powers aren't limitless, but they're pretty damn strong. There might be just enough magic left in the fly for him to be able to track it down, as long as he hurries.

The drive passes in tense silence. Lydia chews on her thumbnail, uncharacteristically nervous, but Stiles has more important things to worry about. Like what the hell that damn pack is doing now. The streets are dark, deserted, ghostly – just the way he likes them. It's not hard to navigate through the main part of town, but then his senses start to fade away. He can tell which general direction to go in, but not specific streets.

Through trial-and-error, he finds a battlefield. The car slows to a crawl as they pass it, and Stiles looks intently out the window, sensing that Allison was here. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees the bodies – Isaac and Mr Argent. He doesn't focus on them; instead he gets from the car and scans the ground. Sure enough, there's a trail – bloody footprints. He shares a look with Lydia and then starts to follow it.

It doesn't take long for them to find where the trail ends, but what's waiting at the other end is surprising. Stiles, still holding Lydia's hand, pulls her into the shadows on one side of the road and watches what happens on the other side. Allison is on the ground and Kira is standing nearby, wary. Neither of them seem to sense the presence of the two nogitsunes, and neither of them even glance their way.

Silently, Stiles watches as Kira approaches Allison and cautiously helps her to her feet. They have a rushed, quiet conversation, too low for Stiles to hear. Then Allison slings her arm around Kira, and they start to walk up the street, back the way they came – or rather stagger, because it seems like both of them are hurt. And they're both definitely on the same side.

When they're definitely out of earshot, Stiles groans. "I bet that damn kitsune figured out a way to bring her back," he says bitterly. His mind flashes back to a time earlier on in this journey, when Allison had warned her about Kira, had told him that she might be a threat, had urged him to take action.

He hadn't listened then, but he's sure as hell going to now.

"Let's see where they're going," he says, his grip on Lydia's hand tightening, and he starts to lead her down the street. They keep a safe distance between them, and follow them back to the wreck. Back to where the bodies are.

Only they aren't bodies. With mounting unease, Stiles watches as Allison and Kira tend to Mr Argent and Isaac – who aren't dead. They seem to just be paralyzed, and it's not long before the two of them are able to stand again. Then the group stands in a small circle, evidently trying to come up with a battle plan. At one point Allison breaks down completely, throwing herself into her father's arms and sobbing. She composes herself again quickly, but it's enough for Stiles to be sure that she's back to her old self again. Shame, that.

"Aren't you going to take them?" Lydia asks, watching them with an indifferent expression on her face. She's not scared of them, but she's also not pleased that there's something resembling a pack again.

He shakes his head. "There's too many of them, and I'm not prepared." With a sigh he turns away from them, bringing Lydia with him. He casts one last look over his shoulder as he departs, feeling anger building up inside him. How dare they think they can win. He'll show them how foolish they are. "Enjoy it while you can," he murmurs to them, knowing they can't hear. Knowing they have no idea what's coming.

Then he turns around and keeps walking, a slight spring in his step, his mind quiet and his heart racing.

Tomorrow, he's going to kill them all.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review! :)**


	37. De-Void

**Hi all! Thanks for the reviews, etc. Just a reminder, since we're getting close to the end: this isn't a happy-ending, all-things-resolved kind of story. This is a questions-left-unanswered, up-to-your-imagination kind of story. You've been warned.**

**Now. I've just finished up a hefty original work and I'm eager to stretch my fanfic-writing muscles again, so if you guys have any prompts for me, feel free to let me know. I'm looking for short prompts, one-shots or two-shots at most, preferably Stydia/angsty/the stuff I usually write. Any takers?**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

It hurts. The pain blooms in her chest and radiates throughout her body, reaching every cell and sticking in her blood and catching in her throat. It _hurts_. Allison stays where she fell, her eyes resting on the knife a couple of feet away. Strangely, she can't feel the wound; it's lost in the rest of the pain, indistinct and distant, but terrifying nonetheless. She can't remember ever being in this much pain, but some part of her says that _it's not enough. _She knows everything she's done, she can remember it all and she _felt_ it all, and she will never be able to make up for it. She wishes that Kira had aimed the knife a little to the right, a little deeper in. That would have been _enough_.

"Are – are you okay?" Kira asks. She hasn't moved, not since she scrambled to her feet, and she's looking at Allison with hatred.

No. Allison glances at Kira's face and then away, unable to meet her eyes, but it's enough to tell her that she'd misinterpreted. It's not hatred in Kira's eyes; it's not even disappointment, or anger, or anything else that Allison would have expected. It's sympathy.

And it breaks her heart.

"I'm fine," Allison mumbles, trying to work up the energy to move. Her father and Isaac are still back at the wreck, suffering, and Scott is still at the hideout, dying, and here she is in pieces because she's finally herself again. And it's all because of the girl standing in front of her. "What… How did you do it?"

Kira pulls a small vial from her pocket, swishing come clear liquid around in it. "Deaton gave me this," she explains. "It's an antidote to the nogitsune's poison – a modified version of the one you gave Lydia when he got to her."

Trying not to flinch at the mention of her best friend, who's still under the thrall of the nogitsune, Allison looks pointedly at the knife.

"Oh." Kira suddenly looks embarrassed. She tucks the vial back into her pocket, and Allison notices that her hands are trembling slightly. The kitsune clears her throat and says, "The antidote only works if you get it into the body – so you'd have to swallow it, or be injected with it, or…"

"Stabbed with it," Allison finishes, feeling sick. She doesn't blame Kira – if anything, she admires her – but she still wishes it hadn't turned out like this. If she'd just been stronger, if she'd been _better_, her friend wouldn't have had to stab her. And she wouldn't have done all those horrible things – to her father, to Isaac… to Scott. Unease prickles up her spine, but she pushes it away. "Did you – did you see my dad and Isaac?"

"Yeah." Kira's embarrassment grows, but she quickly masks it with a look of determination. "We should go back to them, don't you think?"

Allison nods, and even that action causes pain to shoot down her arms and legs. Kira, noticing her discomfort, walks over to help – slowly, warily, like she's not sure that this isn't another trick, like she's waiting for Allison to smile that deadly smile and wrap her hands around her throat. Regret wells up in Allison's stomach; she's going to have a long way to go if she's even going to begin to make up for this.

Hesitantly, Kira helps Allison to her feet. The hunter had been expecting – hoping – to be able to stand on her own, but that quickly proves to be an impractical option. Her legs are shaking and her limbs feel weak and her head is spinning. But she keeps trying, standing on her own two feet while she and Kira discuss their plan of attack.

"Are you the only one out here?" Kira asks, bending down to retrieve the knife. She wipes it off on a clump of grass and then shoves it back into her boot.

"Yeah," Allison says when Kira straightens up. "Stiles and Lydia are back at the hideout."

"Hideout?" Kira echoes.

A wave of pain tears through Allison and she closes her eyes until it fades. "That's where we… where they live."

Kira hesitates, and then asks softly, "Is that where Scott…?"

Allison nods, feeling another jolt at the memory of her alpha – if she's even still part of the pack, which is beginning to look doubtful. He'd been fading fast, the wolfsbane weakening his body, the nogitsune weakening his mind. She doesn't like to think about what they could have done to him since she's been gone. "I can take you there," Allison says, and some of the darkness in Kira's eyes fades. Allison thinks she can even see a spark of foxfire; they both know they need to save Scott. But first they need to get backup.

"We should go," Kira says, and Allison starts to take a step but then she stumbles. Kira quickly catches her, wrapping the hunter's arm around her shoulders.

Hating herself for being so weak – what kind of hunter can't even stand on her own? – Allison leans on Kira as they start to make their way back to the wreck. Again she feels a stirring of uneasiness, some sense that something is wrong, but she doesn't have time to focus on it. The nogitsune's magic has left her weak enough; she doesn't need her mind to be playing tricks on her too.

It's a slow, painful journey, but Allison is determined and Kira is patient. When they get there, the wreck is exactly as they left it. Isaac and Mr Argent are still on the ground, there are blood smears on the ground, and the overturned car still hulks in the middle of the road like a monster. She had deliberately chosen this street because it was so quiet – although now it's only a matter of luck that's meant they haven't been discovered. Even the ambulance hasn't shown up yet, although Allison isn't entirely sure why that is.

She and Kira approach the others, who look up at them but still can't move. Isaac, seeing Kira and Allison together, lets out a sharp cry; surprise, shock, betrayal. Mr Argent has a less emotional reaction – he's in hunter mode now, suspicious, detached, calculating.

"No," Kira says quickly in response to the pain in Isaac's eyes, "it's not like that. We're on the same side, but it's – the nogitsune didn't get us."

Mr Argent flicks his gaze up to Allison, who tries not to tremble. She's always felt like she fell short of his expectations – they hadn't even wanted to train her to be a hunter in the first place – and this does nothing to allay the feeling. "Is that true?"

"Yes." Allison grits her teeth and removes her arm from around Kira's shoulders, determined to stand on her own. It hurts, but everything does anyway. She tries to give her father a smile but it turns out as more of a grimace, which somehow seems more appropriate. "Kira…" She pauses, giving Kira something that actually is a smile – tight, tense, but grateful and genuine. "She managed to get me an antidote. I'm… I'm okay now."

"Speaking of antidotes," Isaac says after a few beats of silence, "is there any chance you have one for… whatever it is you did to us?"

"Oh!" Allison snaps herself out of her morbid thoughts – about Scott, about Lydia and Stiles, about what she's done and what she had planned to do – and dumps her bag on the ground. Then, slowly, she crouches down and starts searching through it. She pulls out a small brown bottle, complete with dropper, and then starts to stand up. She feels steadying hands on her shoulders, helping her up, and she smiles at Kira again. "Here," she says as she kneels down beside Isaac. She and Kira roll him onto his back and drop some of the liquid down his throat. They do the same to her father, and then the hard work begins.

"I can do it," Kira offers, seeing what Allison's about to do.

The dark-haired hunter shakes her head. "It's okay. I can do Isaac, and you can do my father?"

"Okay." Kira suddenly looks less sure, perhaps wishing she hadn't volunteered. But she doesn't complain, doesn't back down.

"On three," Allison says, bracing herself. "One. Two. _Three_."

As she says the last word, she grips the arrow in Isaac's stomach and pulls it out. It's not exactly good first aid practice, but he's a werewolf and he'll start healing as soon as the paralysis wears off. And her father had insisted that he'd be less conspicuous with wounds than with arrows sticking out of him, so she'd reluctantly agreed. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually all the arrows are out. By this point Isaac can move a little bit, so he rolls onto his side and lets out a low moan.

They wait there a few minutes while Isaac and Mr Argent start to recover. A few times Allison tries to apologize, but she can't find the words. There's no way she'll ever be able to make up for what she's done, and she has a feeling her father and boyfriend don't want to hear it anyway. So she sits there in silence, soaking in her guilt.

Finally the two men are stable enough to start to move. Mr Argent begins to say that he'll drive them to find Scott, but Allison cuts across, ignoring his startled expression. "No," she says firmly. "You need to get to a hospital. We'll go and find Scott."

Mr Argent's eyes fly open, and then he narrows them. "I'm not letting you three go off to -"

"And _I'm_ not letting you come with us," Allison interrupts. "Go to the hospital, get patched up, and if you feel up to it, come and find us."

"Allison -"

"No," she says again, and this time something in her voice gets through to him. He takes half a step back, and then the suspicion in his eyes gives way to pride. "You told me that women in our family are trained to be leaders. So let me lead. You can't do anything when you're this badly hurt, so get some medical attention and then see if you can help. We'll be fine."

He looks like he's about to argue, but then he thinks better of it. "You kids be careful," he says, and then he wraps Allison up into a hug – it's gentle but it still makes her wince, and he quickly pulls away. Then he meets her eye and says something that they don't say enough. "I love you."

Allison feels tears prick at her eyes. "I love you too," she says, and then all too soon the moment's over and they're piling into Allison's car and heading to the hideout.

It doesn't take long to get there; Allison wishes it would take longer. She needs time to prepare for this, but even then she knows that that it wouldn't be enough. She's never going to be ready for this.

"Are you sure this is it?" Isaac asks as he pulls up outside the house.

"I'm sure." Allison looks out the window, realizing for the first time how foreboding the house is. It's dark, shadows stretching out in front of the building like skeleton hands, and she suppresses a shiver. For just a second she allows herself to feel longing – to long for the feelings of power and safety that came from being on the nogitsune's side. The pain is starting to fade, and standing is easier, but if she was still with the nogitsune -

No. She's with the pack again. She's not going to go down that path again; she'd rather die.

The three teens make their way up to the front door, and then skirt around the back. They move quickly but quietly, scouring the area in case Stiles and Lydia are there. Gradually they infiltrate the house, and it becomes clear that the others are nowhere around. Allison leads them down the hall and toward the basement, and she pauses before reaching for the handle.

As the door swings open Isaac steps forward, but she flings her arm out to stop him. His eyes widen in surprise, and something flashes through them – suspicion. Like he thinks she might still be on the nogitsune's side.

"You can't go down there," Allison says. "The ventilation system is laced with wolfsbane."

Isaac swallows, suspicion fading. "Right."

Turning away from him, Allison starts down the stairs, Kira following. When they reach the bottom of the stairs Allison flicks the light on, and a whimper escapes her throat as she sees the room in front of them.

"Oh my god," she hears Kira gasp from behind her, "what the hell happened?"

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you all next time!**


	38. Echo House

**Comment of the chapter goes to MisunderstoodSociopath. Wow. Just, wow. And thank you as always to gossgal33 and CMR for your loyal and very much appreciated support. And now, have a heartfelt reunion.**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Light washes over him, followed by voices. He recognizes one of them and his heart sinks; Allison. It doesn't sound like she's here with Stiles and Lydia, but that doesn't mean she's not here to hurt him. Scott cautiously opens one eye, dragging himself out of his agony long enough to take in the sight of the two people standing before him. To his surprise, Allison looks at lot worse than she had earlier; her confidence is gone, her lips aren't twisted into a mocking smile, and she doesn't look much stronger than he is. But what really surprises him is the person standing beside her.

"Kira?" he asks, his heart sinking even further. He had thought she was far enough away from the pack for her to avoid being targeted, but now it seems like the nogitsune has found a way to get to her after all.

"Hi," Kira says, nervous – strange. If she's infected, shouldn't she be confident too? Shouldn't she be relishing the sight of him languishing before her?

Allison approaches him and instinctively Scott draws back. He can just see a flash of something – pain? Guilt? – shoot through her eyes before she pulls up short, holding her hands up to indicate that she's unarmed. "It's okay," she says, darting a glance at Kira. "I'm… I'm not with them anymore."

Before this whole mess, before Scott had spent days imprisoned in a dark basement and been slowly poisoned with wolfsbane, he would have been inclined to believe her. Even now his heart spikes slightly at the prospect; if she's really back with him, then he might stand a chance. But he doesn't trust her, not right away. This could be another trick, another way for the nogitsune to mess with him.

"She's telling the truth," Kira says, which causes some of his doubts to fade a little. "Deaton helped me get rid of the magic in her."

"You mean the fly?" Scott asks, his gaze darting between the two of them. They'd freed Lydia, after all, so it's entirely possible that they could have done the same to Allison. (He tries not to think that they didn't save Lydia after all, because she's gone now and he's not sure he can get her back.)

"Yeah," Allison says. "Kira had a potion, and it… It worked."

Relief replaces fear as Scott's dominant emotion, but it's still tempered by suspicion. If this is true, it's the most wonderful thing he's heard all week. If it's not, then this is the most terrible thing anyone's ever done to him. He tries to move, shifting his weight so that he's facing them, but he can't force his tired muscles to cooperate. Concern darkens Allison's eyes and she drops down to the ground beside him, reaching for him.

She draws her hand back at the last second, coming to her senses; Scott has a feeling that he'd worn a momentary expression of alarm, which didn't help matters. But after seeing what Allison had done, hearing what she'd said – when she wasn't herself, of course, but it was still her body and her voice – he can't help but be reserved. Kira crouches down in front of him as well, and he starts to let himself believe that this might be true.

"Hey," a voice calls from the top of the stairs, "what's going on down there?"

Scott sits straight up, panic temporarily overriding any pain he feels. "Who's that?"

But the girls seem relaxed, and a second before Allison says his name, Scott recognizes the voice. "Isaac."

"He came with us," Kira explains. "Mr Argent went to the hospital -"

"Hospital?" Scott echoes, jerking his gaze away from the stairs and fixing it on Kira. "What happened?"

The kitsune lowers her eyes, causing Scott's anxiety to rise. Allison clears her throat and mumbles, "I hurt him."

The pain in her voice almost makes Scott's heart break. He's seen Allison devastated before – after her mother had died, for example, or after she'd first found out he was a werewolf – but he's never seen her look so _guilty_. "It's okay," he assures her. "You weren't yourself."

She slumps against the wall, giving him an uncharacteristically melancholy look. "But I still did it," she says. "I should have fought harder. I could have -"

"Allison," he says, and he manages to grab one of her hands and hold it as tightly as he can, "listen to me. None of us would have been able to fight it off. And you did sometimes, remember? You were yourself for a little bit when you were here to see me once. That's more than most people would have been able to do."

She mutters something that sounds like _But it's not enough_, but before she can speak again, Isaac calls down the stairs again.

"I hate to cut this reunion short," he says, "but can I remind you all that there's a nogitsune on the loose? Maybe hanging around in a wolfsbane-laced basement isn't the best course of action right now."

Snapping back to his senses, Scott nods. If they make it through this, there'll be time for questions and explanations later. And there'll be time for apologies, because he's sure they all have some to give. He starts to stand up, but his strength fails. There's a rush of activity and he feels Allison on one side and Kira on the other, gently helping him up. Torn between being grateful his friends are here and being annoyed that he needs them in the first place, he lets them help him to his feet, and then he leans on them all the way up the stairs.

Isaac greets them at the top, wrapping Scott up in a bone-crushing hug. Scott steps back after a moment, frowning. "Is that -"

"- blood that you can smell?" Isaac finishes. "Yeah."

Scott's frown deepens. Isaac glances at Allison and then away again, and none of them offer an explanation. Remembering his new motto – escape first, explanations later – Scott decides to drop the subject. Then he remembers something that can't wait. "There's something you need to know," he says slowly, "about Lydia."

Three sets of incredulous eyes stare back at him, and he hates himself for the news he's about to deliver. But it's better that they know now.

"Lydia is…" He trails off, not sure how to break it to them gently. But after all they've been through – and all that's still to come – there's probably no reason to try to be gentle about it. "Lydia's possessed by a nogitsune," he says in a rush, almost all in one word, eager to get it out into the world in the hopes that it will stop tearing him apart.

It doesn't, but at least he has other people to share the burden with now.

"What?" Allison asks, voice soft with surprise. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He looks away from all of them, unable to deal with the shock and confusion in their faces. "I don't know when or how it happened, but she's…"

Allison holds a gloved hand to her mouth, looking like she's trying to stop a scream from slipping through. Isaac leans against the wall, dejected, clearly contemplating the ramifications of a genius being possessed by a homicidal demon. Kira seems the calmest of all of them, but even she's chewing her lip worriedly.

"We need to fix this," Scott says, trying to keep the note of desperation from his voice. He can't quite do it, but under the circumstances he feels it's justified. "We need to find Stiles and Lydia, and we need to stop them before they do anything else." He swallows. "Anything worse."

"Yeah," Allison says, removing her hand from her mouth and crossing her arms across her chest. She doesn't look like a hunter in that moment – she looks like a teenager. Someone who's worried she's going to lose her best friend, or maybe even her life. But she's not going to back down, no matter what the price. "But how do we find them?"

Scott thinks for a moment. "Maybe we could start by looking -"

"- right behind you?"

At the sound of the voice all four of them whirl around, just in time to see Stiles walking through the door. Lydia is a step behind him, and they're wearing identical looks of amusement. Scott steps in front of his pack, protective at once. As he faces Stiles and Lydia, he senses something – one of them is still with him, but one isn't. His emotions are too confused for him to be able to pinpoint exactly who, but he can tell that one of the people in front of him is still on his side, somewhere deep down. The other one isn't, and although he hates to admit it, he knows what it must mean. One of them is dead.

Squaring his shoulders, he faces his former friends. His eyes glow red and he brings his claws out, even though he's still not sure he could do anything to hurt either of them – even if at least one of them really is never coming back.

"What are you doing here?" Scott asks evenly. He casts his senses back, working out where the others are. Isaac is right behind him, already in wolf form. Allison is on his other side, tense, ready to fight. Kira is behind them, moving around, but he can't tell what she's doing. He shifts his attention back to Stiles and Lydia, and braces himself.

"What's the matter?" Stiles asks, voice smooth as silk, still walking toward them. "I thought you were looking for me. And here I am."

He's right, and this trips Scott up for a second. He'd assumed they'd be able to find the nogitsune on their terms, that they'd be able to force a fight when they were even remotely ready, but here the demon is, still with the upper hand. There's nowhere to run, either; Stiles and Lydia are blocking off the only entrance he can see, and the only place left for the pack to go is back to the basement.

"We're here to save Stiles and Lydia," Scott says, hoping his voice sounds strong. He starts to take a step forward, but then fatigue hits again and he stumbles. Isaac and Allison are quick to grab him again and pull him upright, but it's not quick enough to hide his weakness from the nogitsune.

Stiles lets out a low whistle. "You're not looking very good there, Scotty. Maybe you should sit down."

Scott bristles. The nogitsune is taunting him, using his best friend to do it, and he's not even sure he has the strength to fight him off. "I'm fine," he lies. "And I'm not going to let you do this."

"The thing you're not getting," Stiles says, coming to a stop about a foot away from them, "is that you don't really have a choice. You think we didn't realize what you were up to? You think we hadn't expected the pack to find you?"

There's something in Stiles' voice that makes Scott pause before he answers. Then it clicks. "You're lying."

Stiles blinks, momentarily taken aback, but then he recovers and he's all sly smiles and cocked eyebrows again. "What?"

"You didn't plan for this," Scott says, and Stiles' hand twitches; just slightly, but enough to let Scott know that his hunch had been correct. "You didn't think they'd find me."

"You're nervous," Allison adds. "You're worried we might actually be able to take you."

"We can, you know," Isaac chimes in.

"And we're going to," Kira finishes.

Scott feels a burst of pride – this is his pack. And they're going to win.

"H-_mm_," Stiles says, seemingly thoughtful. "I suppose we could try to talk this through. Or we could fight."

"Or," Lydia says, taking a step forward so that she's even with Stiles, "we could just kill you all."

The two nogitsunes move toward the pack, but Allison pushes in front of Scott, holding up a hand as if to stop their approach. "Wait," she says, and to everyone's surprise Stiles and Lydia do come to a halt. Allison licks her lips, shivers, and then speaks. "Stiles, I know you're in there. And there… there's something you should know." She glances up at Stiles' face, meets his eyes, forces herself not to look away. "Your dad… Stiles, I'm so sorry. Your father died."

Scott suddenly feels faint, and it's not because of the wolfsbane. _No_. The sheriff can't be dead. He can't be. But Allison wouldn't lie, not about this, not without telling them first. He looks to her, silently asking for confirmation, and she dips her head. _No_.

But before he can say anything, his attention is jerked back toward Stiles. Before Scott can make sense of it, Stiles is tumbling to the ground, and he and Allison dart forward to catch him. It's instinct rather than logic – he knows it could just be another trick, but there had been something in Stiles' eyes, something broken and vulnerable and heartbreaking, and Scott's willing to take a chance. They catch him before he hits the ground and haul him back to his feet, and he looks at them and Scott knows it's really him.

But there's no time for a joyous reunion, because Isaac cuts through the startled silence with a sentence that turns Scott's blood to ice.

"Guys, where did Lydia go?"

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Teaser for the next chapter:**

_"Where are we going?" Allison murmurs._

_"That way." Stiles inclines his head, pointing... Out of the corner of his eyes he looks at her, and then he asks, "Do you have a knife?"_

_Allison hesitates, worry clouding her eyes, but then she nods._

_ "Good," Stiles says, and then they start walking..._

**See you there!**


	39. Letharia Vulpina

**Hi again guys. I am back in the land of internet after an impromptu hiatus, so have a chapter. Before we get started, I have a couple of responses. gossgal33 and CMR: your reviews were amazing and lovely as always, and your continued support means the absolute world to me. Taylormh98: welcome to the story, and thank you so much for the review! MisunderstoodSociopath: you may have to explain the reference to me, as it has gone entirely over my head; also thanks for your review, of course. FreeLion: thank you so, so much; detailed, thoughtful reviews like that absolutely make my day; as for how the idea for the story came about, it was a combination of dissatisfaction with the way the nogitsune storyline played itself out on the show and a fascination with the idea of good characters going bad (and I think Lydia would make a fantastic villain). So, once again, thank you all for your reviews, and I hope you keep enjoying the story.**

**And now, on to the chapter!**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Pain. So bright it hurts his eyes; so strong it takes his breath away. This is what Stiles – the real Stiles – feels when Allison tells him that his father has died. There's no way she's lying, and he and the nogitsune both know it. She wouldn't gain anything by lying, and it had been a desperate attempt to get through to him – there had been no guarantee it would work. And if it hadn't, then Stiles might have died thinking his father was already dead. Allison wouldn't do that to him.

Instead, Allison has done something else to him.

She's freed him. His vision cuts out suddenly, and then it's like he's in a long white tunnel, never-ending and never-changing, bright white walls and the sound of wind rushing in his ears. And then the tunnel's gone and he's in a dark hallway and his legs are giving out. His friends – can he still call them that, after all he's done? – are catching him and holding him up, but he wishes they'd just let him fall.

"Guys, where did Lydia go?"

The words make all of them spin around, to where Lydia had been standing moments before. She's gone, and this hurts Stiles in more ways than one. It means that he's further away from the real Lydia, so they can't save her. It means that they're further away from the nogitsune inside her, so they can't defeat it. And it means that the nogitsune and the real Lydia are alone, and Stiles doesn't even want to think about what they could be doing.

The surprise is enough to distract Scott, who had been holding Stiles, and suddenly nobody's holding Stiles and he's falling to the ground. The impact knocks the breath out of him and he secretly hopes it doesn't come back, because he's not sure he can be any help. He hadn't really done any of the things that his friends had seen him do, but he hadn't stopped them either. And every time one of them looks at him now, they'll see _him_. Taunting them. Hurting them._ Enjoying it_.

"Stiles!" Scott exclaims, reaching down to them, but then Scott's strength gives out and he sinks to the floor too, groaning.

Guilt floods Stiles' veins. The wolfsbane; that had been his idea. Well not his idea, per se, but the nogitsune had searched through his mind and picked out the pieces it liked, and that's how it had come up with the idea. It had been the perfect way to keep Scott subdued, and it had been partly Stiles' fault.

He tries to ask Scott if he's okay, he tries to thank Allison for bringing him back, but no words come. All that he can make is a weak whimpering noise, and he hates himself for it. Maybe what the nogitsune had said is true; he's not meant to be part of the pack. He's never been able to keep up with them, never been able to help them. Maybe he's holding them back.

"Stiles," Allison says, kneeling in front of the two boys on the ground, "are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," he manages to choke out. Nobody asks what happened, or if it's really him. They all just accept it, accept him, and none of them even seem angry. Why aren't they yelling at him? It's his fault they're in this mess. It's his fault Lydia had become possessed by a nogitsune.

"Scott?" Allison prompts.

The alpha nods, although he's pale and trembling. But he's still in charge, and Stiles knows that he doesn't want to let them down. "We should go find Lydia," he says, his voice breaking on her name.

Allison nods and gets to her feet, helping both Stiles and Scott up. Kira swoops in to help Scott stand, and Stiles keeps leaning on Allison, even though she doesn't feel entirely stable on her feet either. Isaac stands a little to the side, arms folded and a suspicious expression on his face. Stiles meets his gaze and tries not to flinch. "It's me," he says, which seems like a strange thing to say because he's not even sure who he is anymore. "I swear to god, it's me."

"Hm," is all Isaac says before he turns away.

Stiles turns his attention back to his alpha and starts to ask how they're going to find Lydia, but something cuts him off. A voice in his mind. A whisper in his ear. A jolt in his heart.

_You can't save her, Stiles. Not unless you join me again. I can take you to her._

"Shut up," Stiles says, and he doesn't realize he's spoken aloud until the rest of the pack turn to him with identical looks of confusion on their faces. Scott is the first one to realize what it means.

"Is he still… there?" Scott asks, vague, but the meaning is clear.

Stiles nods. "I'm in control for now, but…" He stops, collects his thoughts, steadies his voice, and admits, "I'm not sure how long I can stay that way."

"Okay," Allison says, decisive. "Let's not find out. Scott, you said you found a way to un-possess someone?"

"I said I might have something," he corrects wearily. "There are some scrolls Deaton has – they say that you can defeat the nogitsune by changing the body of the host."

"Woah," Isaac interrupts, with a pointed look over at Stiles. "Are you sure we should be discussing this in front of… certain people?"

Scott follows his gaze, and then turns back to his beta. "Yes. It's Stiles, not the nogitsune."

"How do you know?" Isaac presses. "What makes you so sure that this isn't just some trick the nogitsune is playing on us?"

"Because if it was the nogitsune," Scott says grimly, with another glance at his best friend, "we'd all be dead."

_He's right, you know._

Stiles doesn't reply. Instead he slips into his mind, just slightly, just enough to skim the top of the nogitsune's memories. It's horrible, horrifying, the kind of images and feelings that would make Stiles want to curl up in a corner and cry into his knees. But there's too much at stake – Lydia's _life_, for a start – so he keeps sifting through until he finds what he's looking for.

"… should we do?" Kira is saying when Stiles tunes back in.

Inexplicably, Scott turns to Stiles, as if expecting him to have a plan. Even more surprisingly, he does.

"I think I know how we can save Lydia," he says.

Scott's eyes light up with relief, and Stiles feels a tiny tingle of pride. So at least he can do something right, and if he does save Lydia, he might be able to start making up for what he's done. He'll never _finish_ making up for it, but he can try.

"Great," Allison says. "So why don't we see if Scott's cure works on you, and then -"

"No." Stiles understands what Scott's cure is – he would have to be turned into a werewolf. If it worked, it would save him; but if it didn't, it would kill him. He can't take that risk, not when he knows that he's the only one who can save Lydia. It's the only reason he needs to stay alive; after that, he doesn't care what happens. He really doesn't. Just as long as nobody dies because of him.

"What?" Scott asks, and this time there is suspicion in his eyes. Stiles turns away, embarrassed. Scott is the one who trusts his friends, who forgives them, who takes them at their word – and he thinks Stiles is lying. Or rather, he thinks that a centuries-old Japanese demon is using Stiles' mouth to form lies, but it still hurts.

"I know how to save Lydia," he reiterates, "but I have to be the one to do it. It's my mess, and I have to clean it up."

The others keep looking at him, confused, but gradually they catch on to what he's saying. If he dies, so does Lydia.

"How do we find her?" Scott asks after a while. He's still leaning on Kira, who looks like she would hold him up forever, and Stiles is suddenly very glad that the nogitsune had underestimated her. She's the one who saved Allison, and Allison's the one who saved him, and now Scott's going to save them all. But it's Stiles who has to save Lydia.

_You can't do it. Do you really think you can stay in control for that long?_

A sharp retort poises on Stiles' tongue, but then something even better comes to him. It's two thoughts, wrapped up into one, and together it means they might actually have a shot. "I know how to find her," he says, "but we have to make a stop first."

Nobody questions him, although he can feel Isaac's eyes on his back as they make their way down the hall – Scott supported by Kira, Stiles supported by Allison. They make it out to the car and pile in; it's a tight fit, but this is no time to be splitting up. Stiles directs them from the back; Allison is driving, with Scott in the front beside her. Kira and Isaac are on either side of Stiles, and he can't help but feel like they'd done that deliberately – keeping him in. Trapping him.

He's as irritated as he is grateful.

When Allison realizes where they're going, she balks, but she doesn't stop. The car crawls along the dirt road, and after they're deep enough into the woods, Stiles instructs her to stop. She does, and then looks back at him expectantly.

"I need to get out," he says, and after a moment Kira climbs out of the car so he can. She catches him as he stumbles, and he realizes that he can't do this alone. He catches Allison's eye and jerks his head, and she catches on. Kira passes him over so that he's leaning on the hunter, and then the kitsune gets back into the car.

"Where are we going?" Allison murmurs.

"That way." Stiles inclines his head, pointing to a place a little way into the trees. Out of the corner of his eyes he looks at her, and then he asks, "Do you have a knife?"

Allison hesitates, worry clouding her eyes, but then she nods.

"Good," Stiles says, and then they start walking. The car is soon out of sight, and it's just the two of them and the dark forest. As they walk he pays special attention to Allison, because he remembers that she's wounded too – her shoulder seems to be giving her grief, but she doesn't complain about it, not once. Still, he tries not to put any pressure on that side, and wishes again that he could walk by himself.

Finally they come to the right place, and he shifts his weight away from her so that he's standing properly. "Can you grab that?" he asks, pointing to clump of a small mossy plant just by his feet.

Increasingly confused – and probably thinking that this might be a trick after all and she's out here alone with the nogitsune – Allison does as instructed, plucking the plant out of the ground and holding it out to him.

"Now the knife," he says, and she pulls one from her sleeve and holds that out to him.

His smile turns into a grimace. "You might not want to watch this," he warns.

Allison swallows, nervous, but she doesn't leave. "I'm okay."

There's no time to argue, so he gets on with it.

_No. No no NO. What are you doing?_

He ignores the nogitsune, who's finally caught onto what he's doing. Stiles grabs the knife and quickly runs it across his palm. Allison gasps, but she doesn't interfere. Stiles lets the knife fall to the ground and then he grabs the plant, holding it tight in his injured hand. He can hear Allison's sharp intake of breath, but he ignores it. He waits just long enough to be sure it worked, and then he drops the bloodstained clump of moss.

"Come on," he says. "We should go."

Allison blinks a few times, but then she just picks up the knife, wipes it off on her jacket, and tucks it back into her sleeve. They start the walk back to the others, but they realize it at the same time – they're not alone.

Stiles stiffens, but his fear quickly turns to annoyance as he sees who it is. "What are you doing?"

"Watching you," Isaac says, unabashed.

The implication is clear – they still don't trust Stiles. He doesn't blame them. The three of them walk back to the car, and Stiles explains what he'd done. The letharia vulpina – a natural poison. It had to get into his bloodstream, and from there it can attack the fox spirit directly. He can already feel it working; his mind is quieting. It won't last forever, but it will be enough to see him through the night. He finds it amusing that he never would have known how to do it if he hadn't found it in the nogitsune's memories. And it's how he's going to find Lydia, too – the fox knows how to find her, and he knows how to read the fox's mind. For once, that damn demon is going to be useful.

When they get back to the car, the others are anxiously waiting. Stiles shoves his injured hand into his pocket to avoid further questions.

"So," Scott says, his eyes sweeping over all of them – his pack, reunited at last. On the same side again, although some pessimistic part of Stiles can't help but wonder if it will be for the last time. "What now?"

"Now," Stiles says, reaching for the door – as much to open it as to lean on it – and letting out a slow breath, "we're going to save Lydia."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Place your bets, people: how's this going to end? Who's going to come out on top? Will the pack be able to save Lydia?**

**See you all next time!**


	40. Lunar ellipse

**Home straight, guys. Three more chapters to go. Cue angst in three, two, one...**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

_No. No no _no**_ no_**_ **no**._

For the first time, their thoughts are in unison. The motivations are different, but the overwhelming fear is the same. The nogitsune is scared because she'd been brought into this world by The Other – and now he's trapped inside the body of a teenage boy. And she's left behind to clean up the mess, which she's not sure she can even do. The banshee is strong, too, which doesn't help. Lydia is scared because she's not in control of her body – the nogitsune is running, feet-pounding heart-racing blood-pumping _running_, further away from the pack and from any hopes of release.

_Go back, _Lydia pleads, still trapped in her mind. She bangs against the walls, rattles the door, stamps her foot, but nothing happens. The nogitsune keeps running, and Lydia keeps begging, and all the while they get further and further away from her alpha.

No. He's not her alpha anymore. It's not her pack. She had denounced him, had turned her back on the pack, and she understands why the nogitsune had made her do that. Her link to the pack had been one of the reasons she was fighting, and it was something that the nogitsune couldn't break through. He needed her to do it, to turn her back on them (however unwillingly) because that would sever the magic and leaver her more susceptible.

And god, was she susceptible. She had fallen under the nogitsune's spell, so completely and probably irreversibly. She had let herself believe that it would be okay, because he hadn't hurt her (yet) and he'd made it quiet in her head (for a while) and because he'd looked like Stiles (and he still does). But things are different now. Stiles taking control over his body had weakened his nogitsune's hold on Lydia, and she understands with perfect clarity what's happened now. She hadn't been possessed when she'd attacked Scott, when she'd gone after Isaac, when she'd agreed to target Allison – no, she hadn't been possessed, but she certainly hadn't been herself.

Of course none of this matters anymore because now she _is_ possessed, and the being doing the possessing seems intent on getting them as far away from Beacon Hills as possible. Lydia tries to take control back – even a little bit, just a finger or even her own eyes – but the nogitsune inside her is alert enough not to let it happen.

_Give it a rest, banshee, _the nogitsune says wearily.

The words echo inside her head, everywhere, bouncing off the walls and hitting her right in the chest, and she stumbles back. Stiles. Oh god, _Stiles_. He had done this to protect her. He had made a deal with the devil to save her soul, and she'd thrown it away. She wonders what the pack is doing now. Scott's probably rallying the troops, and Allison and Stiles are most likely apologizing profusely. For a brief instant she allows herself to imagine what it would be like if they found her, but she knows they can't. Unless –

Wait. A thought creeps past, and she latches onto it. Then she realizes it isn't her thought – it's the nogitsune's. It's something that Lydia hadn't known, but with the help of her demon, she understands. They're linked. Stiles is her anchor; the nogitsune has touched her. Either of those would mean that he could find her – whether through their own link or by tapping into the nogitsune's thoughts – but both of them combined means that the chances rise even more. It's still not a guarantee, but it's something.

Hope shoots through her, enough to make the nogitsune's steps falter. A moment later the nogitsune enters Lydia's mind, and she shrinks back against the wall.

"He's not going to find you in time," n-Lydia warns.

The real Lydia hitches a smile on her face – confident, full of life, like it used to be. It's feigned, but somehow it does make her feel the slightest bit better. "You're bluffing," she says, much more calmly than she feels. "Stiles is going to find us."

"Not before I -"

"Before you what?" Lydia interrupts, surprised at her own audacity. "You can't do anything to me. You need me."

"I could find another host," n-Lydia says, but she doesn't sound confident.

"You could." Lydia makes a show of being thoughtful. "But that's risky, isn't it? They might have some kind of natural immunity. They might be strong enough to fight you off. But me?" She gestures to the room at large. "You've already got me right where you want me."

n-Lydia pauses, contemplative. "What do you want?" she asks at last, sounding like she can't believe she's actually having this conversation – and with a _banshee_.

"I want you to let me go," Lydia says – simple, bold, impossible. She's trapped, and she knows that, but some part of her won't stop fighting. "I know you felt something. When Scott took your pain. You felt almost _guilty_, didn't you?"

n-Lydia brushes this off with a wave of her hand. "Momentary, I assure you." Her eyes harden and she goes on, "Besides, aren't you forgetting something? You chose to let me in, Lydia."

"No." It's a lie, but the reminder is uncomfortable. Most of that had been the nogitsune, hadn't it? She would never have turned against her pack – against _Scott_ – without magical influence. It had to be the nogitsune's power affecting her. But still… she hadn't been possessed. She _had_ made the decision. "That was the nogitsune."

"H-mm," n-Lydia says, knowing she's hit a weak spot. She digs the knife a little deeper, twisting Lydia's heart. "Was it, though? You said it yourself – you weren't possessed. You had a choice to make, and you chose yourself. Not your friends."

"It's not like that -" Lydia protests, but it sounds weak even to her own ears.

"I'm not judging you," n-Lydia says, almost gently. "In fact I rather admire someone who will throw their friends under the bus to save themselves."

"I didn't do that -"

"You did, and you know it." The nogitsune's voice is smooth, even – like melted honey. It soothes Lydia for a split second, and she knows she believed it. She'd betrayed her friends to save herself, and she'll never be able to forgive herself for that.

"Listen, I -"

Her words are cut off abruptly as something happens. _Something_ is as specific as Lydia can get, because it's all so chaotic she can't even tell what's happening. There's a loud but indistinct noise, a rumbling, a cold sensation. The nogitsune slips from her mind room and takes control again, and they both look through Lydia's eyes. And see Stiles, pinning her against the wall, a knife pressed to her throat.

The real Lydia lets out a terrified squeak, but the nogitsune in her body does nothing. Just stares back at Stiles, seemingly undaunted, but Lydia knows that she's nervous. Stiles looks _wild_. Half-crazed. She thinks for a second that he might still be the nogitsune, but then he blinks and something slides into his eyes, something softer – something like love.

"Let her go," he growls, digging the knife in slightly. "Let me talk to Lydia."

"What makes you think -" the nogitsune starts, but her words break off as Stiles slams her into the wall again – not hard, really, but hard enough to get a reaction.

"You're not Lydia," he says, "and I won't hesitate to kill both of you if you don't give me what I want."

Until this very moment Lydia had never imagined Stiles, her Stiles, to be capable of such violence. Such _ferocity_. It's not the threat that scares her – it's the fact that he might actually carry it out. The nogitsune has changed him; it had been living inside him, using his worst fears against him, breaking him down and tearing him apart. It's changed him into someone almost unrecognizable, and it chills Lydia to the bone.

_Don't screw this up._

It takes a moment for Lydia to realize that the words haven't been said aloud – the nogitsune has spoken them to her alone. There's a wash of color, a gentle shifting, and she feels herself being nudged out of her mind – toward her body, toward control. She blinks – and so does her body.

She's in control. She's back in control and she doesn't know what to do.

What she doesn't want to do is start crying, but she does that anyway.

The knife moves from her neck and Stiles' arms wrap around her, even though he's so weak he can barely stand. She rests her head in the crook of his shoulder, breathing deeply and trying to slow her tears. Over his shoulder she can see the rest of the pack: Scott leaning against Kira, Allison leaning against the wall, Isaac standing by himself a little way away. All four of them look ready to move at the slightest hint of trouble, but it seems – and here's what really gets her – that they're letting Stiles run the show.

God, she hopes he knows what he's doing.

"Lydia," he mumbles into her hair, "you're okay, you're okay."

But she shakes her head and after a moment he pulls away, looking at her, taking in every detail, and she wants to push him away, to run away, to tell him that _she chose this_. But he knows, and he's going to accept her anyway. He's going to _forgive_ her, and she's not sure she can handle that.

"You're okay," he says again, running a thumb down her cheek, and he's trembling but his touch is so soft, and she can hear the nogitsune murmuring in the background.

"I'm not," she whispers, her eyes resting on a place near his collarbone. "Stiles, I'm not okay."

"I know," he says, cupping her chin with his hand and tilting her face up so that she's looking him in the eye. "That's why I'm here to save you."

Lydia's gut reaction is to laugh, but as soon as she does she knows it was the wrong thing. Hurt flashes through Stiles' eyes, but it's only momentary, replaced by mirth in an instant. She even thinks she can hear Scott chuckle, because whoever heard of a banshee who needed saving? Especially by skinny, defenseless Stiles.

But here they are, and for the first time she has faith that things will work out.

That lasts as long as it takes for the nogitsune to catch on to her plans.

_He doesn't want you. He's using you, Lydia. He just wants to get rid of me so that he's done his part. Then he'll go back to his pack and what will you have, Lydia? Nothing. You'll have nothing left – not him, not the pack, not even me. Is that really what you want?_

It's not, but how can she say no? Stiles is right in front of her and he's all but begging her to come back, and she's in control so she could do it, couldn't she?

She should do it.

But she can't.

"Lydia," Stiles says, very seriously, his hand still on her chin and the other one now resting on her shoulder (the knife having been lost somewhere along the way), "listen to me, okay? You took in the nogitsune voluntarily, which means you can get rid of it."

This sparks her interest, especially because of the corresponding flicker of fear from the nogitsune. _It's true_. She can get rid of the nogitsune herself. Can't she? She swallows, her eyes darting away from him, and then she looks up at him again. "H-how?"

"You just have to…" Stiles pauses, thinking of the right word, and then finishes, "_will_ it."

"Will it?" she echoes, suddenly unsure. It can't be that easy. Then another problem presents itself. "Stiles, I… I'm not part of the pack anymore. You were there; you know I turned my back on them. I turned my back on _you_, Stiles, and I -"

"Shh." He's gentle now, the wildness in his eyes gone, and she chides herself for ever thinking he would have gone through with his threat. He just needed to force the nogitsune to relinquish control, and it had. But what happens now? "Lydia, I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. You're not selfish, you're not stupid, and you sure as hell aren't evil." He pauses, and then a mischievous smile graces his face. "Well, not entirely anyway."

Again, a laugh slips through her lips, and somehow it doesn't feel wrong. Stiles is the only person in the world who could ever make her laugh in a situation like this, and she loves him for it. But it doesn't stop the aching in her chest or the guilt laying foundations in her heart. "She… the nogitsune said that I chose myself over you. That I was selfish. That I… I couldn't come back."

Pain softens Stiles' eyes, but it sharpens his voice. "No. Lydia, you are one of the most selfless people I know. And -" he goes on hurriedly to cut her off before she can interrupt "- not only that, you're one of the strongest people I know. I don't know how you deal with all this banshee stuff, day in and day out, without losing your freaking mind. If it had happened to any of us we would have been in a psych ward by now, but you just grit your teeth and deal with it."

"Stiles -"

He barrels over the top of her, and for once she doesn't mind. "And you're smarter than the rest of our grade combined, and that's when you're not even trying. But when you do put your mind to it, you can do anything. You can fix this, Lydia. You don't even need me to save you because you can save yourself. Just trust that you can do it."

His worlds trickle to a stop and then he looks at her, expectant, and she wants to tell him that he's wrong and that she can't do this and that the nogitsune is going to win, but something stops her. It's the look in his eyes – not just love, but pride. And _faith_. He's trusting her to do this; it hasn't occurred to him that she'll fail.

And that, more than anything, gets through to her.

She delves back into her mind, faces the nogitsune. They stare at each other for a minute that feels like a lifetime, and then Lydia summons all her strength and all her courage and she _screams_ –

– screams louder and more wildly than she ever has, pouring all her hate and frustration and sadness into that one syllable, and she goes on until long after it goes quiet in her head. Then she lets herself drift back to the surface.

And Stiles' is the last face she sees before she slips into unconsciousness.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Still with me, guys? Let's finish this. See you next time!**


	41. The divine move

**To the two reviewers still with me: thank you and I love you and please don't hate me for how this ends. To all you lurkers, new readers, and everyone else: I, like every other fanfic writer, live for reviews, so if you have the time please consider leaving me a quick review to let me know what you think of the story.**

**Okay. So. It took a lot longer to publish this than to write it, and I apologize. But I hope everyone still reading enjoys it. This is the penultimate chapter. I don't want to give anything away, but this chapter has a lot of violence and maybe some death and if you want to know what happens I guess you'll just have to keep reading...**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

It's chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. And Stiles hates it.

And more than that, he hates how easy it is to lose control. A split second of emotion had been enough to break his hold over the demon inside him. Of all things, it's _triumph_ that is his undoing; the irony is not lost on him. That one second of feeling triumphant – he'd saved Lydia! It's going to be okay! – had meant that he's lost his hold, ever so slightly, just enough for the demon to slip through the cracks and take him over again.

Saving Lydia had meant losing himself, and he'd do it all over again.

With his last ounces of strength he pushes her away and she tumbles into Allison's waiting arms, and she wakes up a moment later and the pack stares at him in confusion until Scott – of course it's Scott, it's always him – catches on and he gestures for them all to step back. Kira catches on next, and then Isaac. Finally Allison does, but Lydia doesn't. She's spent so long with the nogitsune that she can't even tell the difference between him and Stiles. Allison whispers something into Lydia's ear and the banshee freezes, her expression changing to one of disgust and disappointment. He's not sure who it's aimed at, but it makes him feel cold. And of course, he can't do a thing about it, because his body isn't his anymore.

_You thought you could win against _me_? I've lived for a thousand years, Stiles. Scott's pack couldn't stop me. The Oni couldn't stop me. What made you think that _you_ could?_

An answer hovers at the corner of Stiles' mind, but he pushes it away. The nogitsune picks up on it anyway, tugs it out, stretches it flat, laughs at it.

_Really, Stiles? That's your big secret? That's the reason you thought you could win?_

Stiles – the real Stiles – stiffens, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he watches, through eyes that aren't his own, as the pack before him starts to crumble. Allison jerks Lydia out of the way, pulling her back into the safety of the pack. Kira and Isaac step forward, closing the ranks, and Scott's standing in front of them all with a grim look that Stiles knows all too well. It's a win-at-all-costs look. It's the kind of look that means Scott's ready to do whatever he needs to in order to save the day – even if it means losing his best friend.

Pride fizzes in Stiles' heart, but regret wins out. It had always been him and Scott, until it wasn't, and now it's Scott and his pack, and Stiles and his demon, and he can feel everyone's emotions and it makes him dizzy. The terror, the anger, the confusion. It would knock him backwards if he were actually in control of his body.

And then, as he watches, the nogitsune makes its move. There's a sense of deliberation about it now; no more playing games or wreaking havoc. This is about the endgame, the kill, the _chaos_. This is about getting rid of the one thing that's standing in the way of the nogitsune and its goal: the pack. The group of teenagers standing in front of him, bracing themselves for battle. Stiles can feel how frustrated this makes the demon; he knows it's killed hundreds of people, even other supernatural creatures, and now it's being tripped up by a group of kids. It won't stand for it, and it's going to change it. Now.

"Stiles."

The voice makes the nogitsune pause, partway through walking across the room. His eyes flick to the one who spoke, and a sly grin stretches across his face.

_No, _Stiles growls, pushing against the walls in his mind, _don't you go near her._

"Stiles is screaming for you," the nogitsune says, and Lydia pales. "He remembers what it was like, when you were together. How it felt with you _writhing_ beneath him -"

"Stop." Lydia's voice is sharp but it sounds like she's biting back a sob. "That wasn't me, and you know it."

"Mm." The nogitsune tilts his head and surveys the banshee, who looks back unflinchingly even though it looks like she's struggling to stand. The others aren't doing much better – all of them pale, exhausted, but_ not giving in_. "But what about when it _was_ you, Lydia? Hm? Did you tell the others about what we did?"

Allison glances at her best friend, her eyes narrowing. "What did you do?"

Mutely, Lydia shakes her head, but neither hunter nor nogitsune will accept that for an answer.

"Lydia," Allison says more forcefully, "what is he talking about?"

"Tell her, Lyds," the nogitsune says, looking at Lydia but inclining his head toward Allison, "tell her what we did. At the café, in Kira's bathroom. You remember, don't you? You remember how good it felt."

"No." There's no sharpness in the word now; it's leached of color and devoid of any vehemence. It's an admission of something she can't quite bring herself to actually say. "I wasn't myself. You were tricking me. You were using magic on me -"

Stiles – the nogitsune – wags his finger, silencing her. "It doesn't work like that. You can't create something from nothing. You know that, right, Lydia?"

She lowers her gaze and Stiles feels his heart break.

"That's right," n-Stiles croons, taking a step closer. "I didn't create those feelings. I just encouraged you to act on them. And it's not too late, you know."

Her head snaps up.

"You can still come with me," n-Stiles says. "I actually kinda like you. I'm going to kill everyone else, of course – there's nothing you can do about that now – but you can still save yourself. And that's somethin', right?"

_Stop. Just stop, please. _Stiles is begging now, because he's out of ideas and they're out of time and he's terrified he's going to have his friends' blood on his hands and feel their necks snap and watch the life drain from their eyes.

_It's too late for you, Stiles, _the nogitsune says in his mind, still watching Lydia. _But if you behave yourself, I might let you play with Lydia for a bit – when I'm done with her._

_NO. _The plea turns into a scream and for one wild moment he thinks he might be able to take control again. But the nogitsune is too alert now, unwilling to let another mishap get in his way, determined to keep Stiles in check at all costs. Stiles tries to gain control of just one part of his body – a hand, maybe, or his eyes. Something so that he can convey a message to the others. To let them know that it's okay, and he understands. They have to do what they have to do, and he'd done what he'd meant to do. He'd saved Lydia, and now all he needs is for the pack to do the same for him.

But what he doesn't think they've realized that the only way to save him is to kill him.

Then he sees it – something in Isaac's eyes. A glimmer, maybe, a spark of recognition. Stiles tries to communicate with him, to give him a nod or a thumbs-up or _something_, because without that Scott will never admit that this is what they need to do. He focuses his attention on Lydia, who's still silently staring at him, and he wonders why she doesn't realize that this is how it has to end.

Then he realizes: she does know. The corner of her mouth twitches and he knows she's trying to decide whether or not to tell Scott; the only way to kill the nogitsune is to take Stiles down with him, and Stiles is okay with that. As long as it's quick enough, as long as the nogitsune doesn't expect it, then it will work. Stiles will die and so will the nogitsune, and then the pack can go on.

Without him.

The nogitsune strokes his thoughts, amused. _You see it too, don't you? They know they're going to have to kill you. Do you really think they're going to?_

_Yes, _Stiles thinks without giving himself time to consider it. He tries to sound strong, sure, determined, but it doesn't come across that way. The demon's in him, and it knows he's terrified. The pack has never taken a human life before, and he's honestly not sure they really could. Isaac, maybe, or Allison – but not Scott. He catches the thought before the nogitsune sees it, and he focuses on projecting a different one. _Not Scott. Not Scott. Oh god, please not Scott._

For the first time, Stiles is half a step ahead, and he hopes to god it will be enough to get them through this. The nogitsune comes across his thought and picks it up, and does what Stiles expected it would: it goes after Scott.

Stiles sways inside the mind room as the nogitsune lurches forward. Allison pulls Lydia out of the way, and Isaac and Kira back up, and Scott charges forward, fangs bared and claws out. Of course. Stiles closes his eyes because he can't bear to watch, but the audio alone is bad enough. There's a horrible howl and a dull thud, and when he forces his eyes open he sees Scott sprawled on the floor with blood pooling around his stomach. The nogitsune glances at him and then up again, at the rest of them.

"Who's next?" he taunts, his gaze sweeping over all of them – and lingering on Lydia, suggestive, seductive, horrifying. Lydia shrinks away, drawing closer to Allison.

Isaac steps forward, and the nogitsune raises his eyebrows, surprised by his audacity. The young werewolf darts forward, and manages to get in a good blow before he's knocked to the ground. Out cold but not dead. Not yet. The nogitsune looks down and sees blood welling in his chest, but it doesn't hurt, not really. Stiles feels sick, especially because he can't feel the wound in his chest. He should be writhing in pain, but all he can feel is a dim kind of tingling.

Kira is the next to step up, but without her sword she doesn't stand much of a chance. The nogitsune deals with her more harshly than it had with the others – because it knows who she is, who her family is, what they did. He knows that her mother is the one who sent the Oni –who had only lasted a few seconds against him, but it's still enough to be a nuisance. So he grabs her arm, snaps it, and spins her around, flinging her halfway across the room. She slams into the opposite wall and slides to the ground.

Now there's only the demon, the banshee, and the hunter. All three stand still for a moment, and the nogitsune is sizing them up. Stiles tries to tell Allison that it's okay, that she has to kill him because it's the right thing to do. It wouldn't even be going against the Code – she would be protecting him from himself. She would be preventing him from slaughtering the town or taking over the world or whatever the hell the demon even wants, and that's the greatest gift she could ever give him.

But she hesitates, a fraction too long, and that's the end of it. Stiles doesn't know if she was even really considering killing him, but now she'll never get her chance. The nogitsune goes for a more intimate approach this time – pulling her close, wrapping an arm around her throat, holding until she stops struggling. He doesn't know – or care – if she's dead or just unconscious; he lets her fall to the floor and then he turns his attention to his final conquest.

"Stiles -" Lydia says, but the nogitsune claps a hand over her mouth and pushes her up against the wall.

_STOP_, the real Stiles screams, but the nogitsune just laughs at him.

_This is why you were fighting, wasn't it?_ the nogitsune asks as he presses his body against Lydia's. _Because you had something to lose. And guess what? You've lost it. You've lost everything, Stiles._

The nogitsune is so immersed in what it's doing that it doesn't notice what's happening; but Stiles does. He follows Lydia's gaze, hears the faint footsteps behind him, braces himself for the impact.

_Not everything, _he corrects, and the nogitsune pauses, alarm flashing through it like a dart. _I haven't lost my pack._

The nogitsune notices, but too late.

There's a sudden flash of teeth.

A sharp, stinging pain.

Glowing red eyes.

Then darkness.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**One more chapter. What a journey this has been. I'll save the mushy stuff for next AN. For now, remember to review, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you all next chapter... one last time.**


	42. The fox and the wolf

**And here we are. In celebration of the next season of Teen Wolf, have the final chapter of _scarlet_. This has been a wonderful journey, and I'm glad you've all stuck with me. This is one of my longest stories ever, and it amazes me that some of you have been here since the very start. And that some of you have been picked up along the way and chose to stuck around. Every favorite, every follow, every review - they all mean so much. This has been such a wild ride, so thank you all for coming on it with me.**

**Now. One final warning: this is a draw-your-own-conclusion ending. I'm not wrapping everything up neatly. Be prepared.**

**So, for the final time, here is the next chapter...**

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

It's still dark, but not dark enough. Stiles can see where he is, and more than that, he can see who he's with. The mind room. The nogitsune. It's all so familiar, and yet Stiles knows that it's changed. He changed the rules; Scott changed the game. Now it's just Stiles and the nogitsune, and this is the end. Stiles can distantly feel his arm throbbing, and he knows what happened. Scott. The alpha. The only one who could do this, the only one who could find a way to get them all out of this alive.

Except.

Stiles isn't so sure everyone _is_ alive. The nogitsune had torn through them all so quickly that it was impossible to keep track of it. Scott and Lydia are okay, as far as Stiles knows, but Allison, Isaac, Kira – there's a question mark hanging over all of their names. They could be alive, they could be dead. Stiles doesn't know, and the nogitsune doesn't care.

"This is it," the nogitsune says, and somehow it's chilling rather than melodramatic.

Stiles dips his head, but he can't do more than that, can't even take a step forward. This is it. This is where it's all been leading up to, this is what was always going to happen. It's all down to Stiles now. If he's strong enough to survive the bite, then that will be enough to eject the nogitsune from his body. If he's not, he dies – but maybe he can still take the nogitsune down with him. And if the nogitsune can find a way around the bite, then everything will be lost anyway.

A long beat of silence passes. Then Stiles takes a single step forward, and that's the beginning of the end.

X.X.X.X.X

"Did it work?"

"I can't tell -"

"But is he going to be -"

"What if it doesn't -"

Scott cuts through the clamour of voices with nothing but a look. The pack falls silent, all eyes turning to him. Lydia, Isaac, and Allison watch him carefully, waiting for a signal. Waiting for him to tell them what to do, to tell them it will all be okay. But he can't lie to them.

He turns away from the pack and crouches down. Kira is on one side of him, Stiles on the other; both out cold. Stiles had collapsed the second Scott had bitten him, and Kira's been out longer than that. The others had taken a while to claw their way back to consciousness, and he's not sure they aren't regretting the decision. The situation is grim at best, and even he can't put a positive spin on it.

Kira looks almost peaceful, but Stiles… pain is plastered across his face, letting them know that he's fighting for all he's worth. Every now and then his body will convulse, limbs jerking, breath gasping, and then he'll go still. He seems weaker with each one.

"Scott," Lydia says softly, walking over to him.

He glances at her over his shoulder but doesn't move from his position between two of the most important people in his life – his girlfriend and his best friend. He might have failed them both, and that alone is enough to freeze him in place. Add to that the fear, uncertainty, and side effects of slowly being poisoned with wolfsbane, and it's a wonder he's still conscious.

"How long will it be until we know whether it worked?" Lydia asks.

Scott shakes his head; he doesn't know. The pack falls silent, and they wait – for the worst, for the best, for whatever is coming.

X.X.X.X.X

Slow at first, but then all at once; that's how Derek wakes up. It's also how the anger hits him when he realizes where he is, and when memories from the past couple of days come back to him. He sits up and looks around, his eyes taking in the familiar features of his loft. The twins are on the floor beside him, and Peter is sitting in the stairwell, watching them with an impassive expression on his face. He raises his eyebrows when he sees Derek is awake.

"By all means, take your time," Peter says, with the hint of a smirk playing around his lips. "It's not like Beacon Hills is in grave danger."

Derek's been awake for thirty seconds and his uncle's already managed to piss him off. "What the hell happened?" he growls, getting to his feet and feeling a jolt of frustration at how weak he is. He can stand, but he still feels dizzy. Damn it.

"What happened," his uncle says, standing up and making his way over to his nephew, "was you lot let yourselves be controlled by a mass-murdering demon who tried to have you kill each other."

The description is painfully accurate, but Derek doesn't give his uncle the satisfaction of appearing to be abashed. "And you swooped in like the graceful hero and saved us?"

Peter smiles, snake-like. "Not quite."

Familiar with Peter's cryptic ways, Derek doesn't push the issue. He turns his attention to the twins – the closest thing he has to a pack – and feels a pang of sadness. "Are they going to be okay?"

Peter glances at them, seemingly unconcerned. "They'll be fine, assuming they wake up."

"This demon," Derek says slowly, still collecting memories from the last week and trying to shove them together into some kind of coherent story, "did you see it?"

"Not exactly." Peter folds his arms, surveying his nephew. He seems to argue with himself for a moment, and then, with a barely perceptible shrug, he says, "But I know what it was."

Derek jerks his head over to him. "What? What was it?"

"A nogitsune," Peter replies, still infuriatingly calm, but with just a hint of malice in his eyes. "A very dangerous Japanese spirit. It -"

"I know what a nogitsune is," Derek cuts in. Then he pauses. "If you didn't see it, why are you so sure you know what it was?"

This time the malice in Peter's eyes is unmistakeable, and it slides into his voice, causing chills to creep down Derek's spine. "Because," the former alpha says, "I'm the one who summoned it."

X.X.X.X.X

Lydia wraps her arms around herself, unable to stop coldness from snaking down her spine. Allison pulls her into a one-armed hug, but it gives neither of them much comfort. Lydia's eyes are locked on Stiles, who's still on the floor, still unconscious, still fighting whatever hellish battle is going on inside his mind. Without taking her eyes off him she mumbles, "I'm sorry."

Allison looks at her, and then squeezes her tighter. "It's okay," she says. "It wasn't you."

Too tired to argue, Lydia just bites her lip and says nothing. There's one thought running through her mind – no, not just running, _consuming_. Stiles saved her, and it might have cost him his life. After all she's done, everybody she's hurt, every wicked thought she's had, she doesn't deserve this. Stiles is the one who deserves to be standing here with the pack, not her.

"I'm sorry too," Allison says after a while.

"You would never have gotten involved if it wasn't for me," Lydia says, automatic, emotionless; her voice is flat, because if she lets a tiny hint of emotion slip through it will be enough to break her. She needs to stay strong, at least until this ends – one way or the other.

She realizes something, but she doesn't dare say it, because if she does she might jinx it. If she's right, then everything will be okay. But she's been wrong before, she's been hopelessly wrong and it's almost ended in disaster, and what if she's wrong now? Disaster will be the least of their worries.

She fixes her gaze on Stiles, tries to reach his mind with hers. _You can do it._

Because if she's wrong, if he dies, she will literally go out of her freaking mind.

X.X.X.X.X

A wave of guilt, washed away by fear; wiping the slate clean, causing his heart to jolt into double-time. Isaac regrets suggesting that they kill Stiles, because now it might actually be a possibility and none of them are equipped to handle that. Stiles has been in the pack longer than any of them, aside from Allison, and without him it will surely crumble. He's the comic relief, the stoic best friend, the one who _always figures it out_.

And he'd figured it out this time too; Isaac is sure of it. It hadn't been much, just a flash, but it had been enough. Stiles had broken through, just long enough to get his message across. Silently, momentarily, Stiles had begged Isaac to do what he knew he had to do. But Isaac had never gotten the chance, and he's suddenly very glad of that. He could never have killed Stiles.

But it doesn't make a difference now, because he can't save him either.

If Allison has ever been more terrified, she can't remember it. Every nerve is on high alert, her heart pounding and her neurons firing more rapidly than she'd thought possible. Electricity buzzes through her, but it can't quite break through the exhaustion, the residual pain from the nogitsune's magic. So she stands still, even though everything inside of her is moving, trembling, trying to break free.

Like Stiles.

She can see it in his face; he's fighting. This is his fight alone, and they can't interfere. Her bow and arrow won't do any good here, and her hunter training hadn't included a lesson on how to patiently wait to see whether a friend is going to die. Nobody in the room is patient, but nobody moves. Scott stays where he is near Kira, Allison keeps holding Lydia, and Isaac stands a bit behind.

Stiles is the only one moving, but that's only intermittently, his convulsing getting weaker by the second. He doesn't have long; they can all sense it, but none of them dare to say it. Lydia's leaning on her for support, but Allison's leaning on her too, because this whole situation is crazy and it makes her knees weak and she wants to just curl up in a ball and close her eyes.

But she's a hunter, and she can't give up. If Stiles isn't giving up, then neither will she.

X.X.X.X.X

The first thing Kira sees when she wakes up is Scott's face, and somehow that feels right. Relief floods his expression and he reaches for her, but he pulls back at the last second. She sits up slowly, and then nods, letting him know that she's okay. This time he does reach for her, wrapping her up in a hug that takes her breath away – for more reasons than one. For just a moment she closes her eyes, breathing in his scent, burying her face in his shoulder. A month ago she'd never heard of the supernatural, and now here she is, right in the middle of it, with werewolves and hunters and banshees and that goddamn nogitsune.

Her mouth tastes sour and she breathes in slowly, forcing herself to pull away from Scott. She takes in the rest of the room – the rest of the pack – and feels weak with relief when she sees that they're all okay.

All except Stiles, anyway.

"Is he -" she asks tentatively.

Scott shakes his head, cutting her off. "He'll be okay."

Kira catches the shakiness of his voice, but she doesn't say anything. And then, almost as if Scott willed it, Stiles opens his eyes.

The only problem is that Kira can't tell who's the one looking back at them.

Stiles.

Or the nogitsune.

X.X.X.X.X

A siren wails in the distance. Melissa can barely hear it over her own thoughts. They've moved him – the body – and any moment now the ambulance will arrive. They'll take him away. She and Deaton will make up some story about how he died, some tragedy that could have been prevented, even though the real tragedy is that nobody will ever know how noble he was.

They'll have a full hero's funeral, of course. Banners and guns and everyone from his station. There'll be tears and laughter and stories, and she won't be able to say a thing because nobody will know. They weren't here; they wouldn't understand. But she was here, and she'll never forget.

"There's an old Cherokee story," Deaton says, jerking her out of her thoughts, and she welcomes the distraction. The sirens grow louder. "About a man who told his grandson about the battle inside – fought between two wolves."

At the mention of wolves, Melissa's mind is flung in an unwelcome direction. Scott. Stiles. The pack. There's been no word yet, and she wishes she could help them. But she's not part of their world; her place is here. She just hopes to god they'll be okay.

"One is everything good – peace, love, hope. The other is everything evil – jealousy, rage, anger." Deaton pauses, his words seeming to weigh him down, like at any moment he might simply sink into the ground and disappear forever. "His son thought about it for a minute, and then he asked a question."

Here Deaton pauses, waiting for her to fill in the blanks, and she does. She licks her lips, swallows, prays to every deity she knows that the kids will be okay. "Which wolf wins?"

A pause. Heavy, slightly hopeful. Like there might be a chance after all. Deaton even gives her half a smile as he replies, although it's grim and tinged with sadness – for all they've lost, for all they may still lose. But the edges curl up, with hope for what they might still gain. He takes a deep breath, and then he replies. "The one you feed."

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**I would love to hear your thoughts. What do you think would have happened next? Did Stiles win, or did the nogitsune? (I will give you a clue - the answer to that is, albeit vaguely, hinted at in the chapter. Anyone pick up on it?) Any thoughts, theories, and comments are welcome. Thank you all once again, and I hope you enjoyed the story. Even if you're reading this years after it was completed, please do leave a review - I'll get an alert and I will be so very thrilled. Your words are what keep me going, and I can't thank you all enough for your support. And with that, I conclude _scarlet_ and move on to other things. Thanks again, wolflets.**

**#ShadowsOut**


End file.
